


The Sky for an Enemy

by tmelange



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Smallville
Genre: Angst, First Time Meeting, First Time Romance/Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Plot-Intensive, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmelange/pseuds/tmelange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years to the day after their first fateful meeting in Smallville, Lex and Clark encounter each other again in Metropolis under dire circumstances. The press of time and events forces them both to relive a past that each remembers quite differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story in December 2001, when _Smallville_ first came on the air and I was deep in the throes of CLex. Even though I intended to finish this story and liked what I had written, I just never got back to it. Time and TPTB conspired to rob me of my CLex obsession and replace it with an abiding love of Superman/Batman. I realized if I was going to ever finish this story and use what I had already written, I needed to change the ultimate pairing. So, if you are a diehard CLex-er, this story is no longer for you as the story ends up in a place where Clark/Bruce is the fated pairing and Lex Luthor is Clark's reluctant arch nemesis, though the story is heavy CLex at the beginning.
> 
> This is an AU that plays off of _Smallville's_ disinclination to put Clark in tights. Hence, it's an AU that is sans costumes for the most part, and it offshoots Smallvile canon after season 3.
> 
> Some knowledge of _Smallville_ canon at the beginning of the series, the DC Comics storyline where Lex becomes president and the _Justice League_ animated "Justice Lords" episode would be helpful background for this story, but not required.

And aren't you wicked enough   
to ruin anyone?  
With a friend like you  
who needs the sky  
for an enemy?

From _Ghazal,_ Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

+

 **Prelude:**

 _Metropolis: 2011.10.15_

Senator Lex Luthor had a theory: Most people, while navigating their ordinary lives, didn't really want to pull the curtain back and expose the wizard; did not, in fact, want to destroy the image of their stick-figure heroes, choosing to believe the worst only when given no other choice. The American public, in particular, had turned wearing blinders into an art form. It stood to reason, then, if he could just make the exchange without anything going wrong, no one would even notice that he had, technically, used LuthorCorp to funnel weapons-grade plutonium from a government facility to a suspected terrorist.

No matter how he rationalized the particulars, however, he was well aware that he risked more than just his career this time. Sprawled in his seat as his limousine sped down a deserted road on the threadbare outskirts of Metropolis, he felt almost lethargic. Someone had turned off the moon, and the stars were very bright without the competition, scattered carelessly in the air like wicked shards of glass. He supposed a man, walking upside down and barefooted across the night sky, would be left with nothing more than a weary idealism and two bloody feet. The corners of his lips turned up. Good thing he made it a point never to walk around barefooted.

Lex sat up in his seat as his limousine rolled past a large marble sign on cobblestone pillars that read: _SalyBioTech Corporation._ "So this is hell," Lex said softly, as he peered out at the large buildings looming on his side of the car.

"Excuse me, Senator?" said his long-time bodyguard, Peters, who was sitting on the other side of the limousine.

"Nothing."

His knee pressed into the door's leather paneling, fingers curled around the handle as he returned his gaze to the window and resumed his contemplation of the night sky. Despite his doubts, Lex was glad that the limo was about to stop, that the game was about to begin. Besides, he was eager to escape the feeling of claustrophobia that sometimes overcame him when he rode in the back seat of a car.

The car coasted slowly into the interior of the SalyBioTech industrial campus and pulled up a short distance from an imposing aluminum structure. Lex, dressed in his customary black ensemble—black overcoat, black gloves, scarf, black shoes as shiny as a mirror made of tinted Venetian glass—exited the vehicle quickly, almost before the car had come to a complete stop.

"Sir!" Williams called out reproachfully from where he stood by the open door to the driver's seat. Williams had been with the Luthor family for over twenty years; he had been his father's driver up until Lionel's untimely death three years ago. Usually Lex had a greater tolerance for the old man's sense of decorum, but not tonight.

Lex held up a gloved hand. "Wait here," he said, forestalling his chauffeur's rush to his side of the vehicle, and precluding his bodyguard from following him, all with one imperial gesture. "I'll be right back." He turned and walked confidently in the direction of the warehouse. Destiny and Fortune were gods; they steered his every step, they scattered rose petals upon his path.

 _Rose petals. Right._ He smirked as he made his way across the cement byway, aiming for a door on the left side of the building. He located the buzzer, took a moment to remove his leather gloves and put his thoughts in order before pressing the bell. Reaching out, he paused. He felt an odd, feathery feeling along the back of his neck, as if eyes were upon him, watching his movements. Lex glanced around the area quickly, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing. The area was deserted. There was clearly no one _watching_ him. _Relax,_ he told himself sternly. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his most distinguishing feature, his head—a head that was bald and as smooth as marble. It was a habit, an affectation that always soothed his frayed nerves; it was a gesture that served as a reminder of who he was and what it had taken to get to this point in his life.

He was Senator Alexander Luthor. Lex Luthor. Principal shareholder (held in trust, technically) of Luthor Holdings, Ltd., one of the biggest conglomerates of biotechnology companies in the world, with diversified interests in real estate, oil, mineral mining, pharmaceuticals and prospective science; he was a billionaire business mogul who had been the youngest man to successfully run for a seat on the Kansas state senate at the tender age of 25. He was 31 years old now. In fact, today was his birthday.

Lex pressed the buzzer. Twenty seconds later, the door was answered by a young man in gray coveralls. "This way," he said.

The interior of the facility was dark, quiescent. The young man set a brisk pace, heading towards an island of light on the far side of the building. The interior was huge, the approximate size of an airplane hanger. His guide led him past two of the giant vats that took up about half of the main floor, and Lex noticed smugly that the set-up was a copy of the biotechnical system that LuthorCorp had pioneered three years ago; a system that enabled a company to successfully grow food and fiber indoors, in giant bacteria baths, practically eliminating the need for farmers and soil for the first time in history.

There were two men talking in low tones in an illuminated lab area. One man Lex recognized immediately as Martin Pelter. Martin was the facilitator, a swarthy, annoying individual whom Lex had been working through for the past two years. The other man was a stranger, but Lex knew that he had to be the person he was here to meet, the mysterious Salymar, sole owner of the SalyBioTech Corporation, one of LuthorCorp's principal competitors, not so much in the US, but particularly in many countries such as Saudi Arabia and India. Fahid Salymar was practically a myth in international circles. He never granted interviews, never attended a meeting in person, and never allowed pictures to be taken of himself or his entourage. By all accounts, he was a complete recluse. In fact, the only semi-reliable description to be had of the man was straight out of his dossier at the CIA, and even that description was conflicting. Many people thought the Salymar identity was a front, a sham set up by the same international cartel that allegedly used SalyBioTech as a front for the development of a worldwide bioterrorism program. Lex had no current opinion on the subject. Salymar had access to something Lex needed; the man could be from Mars for all he cared.

Salymar broke off his conversation with Martin and waved a manicured hand at Lex's guide. "Thank you, Michael,” he said. You can go home. I'll show the Senator out." The young man nodded, glancing quickly at Lex before walking away.

"Lex Luthor," the man said, holding out a hand adorned with a large, emerald ring that Lex found almost as astonishing as the man himself. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Fahid Salymar."

Salymar was somewhat different from what Lex had expected when he had arranged this meeting. He was young, handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and a closely cropped beard that served to accentuate his fine features rather than hide any defect. His skin was a very light mocha color, and he was smartly dressed in an expensive black suit. He was tall; his voice was rich, resonant, accented, his eyes piercing, unforgettable. Salymar attracted and held his attention the way a magnet attracts metal.

"The pleasure is mine," Lex said as he smiled and shook the man's hand.

"You know Martin."

Lex nodded his head slightly in Martin's direction.

"Can I get you something to drink? Believe it or not, we are fully stocked down here on the work floor. I can get you just about anything you desire."

The implicit invitation was not lost on Lex. He raised an eyebrow speculatively and smiled his patented half smile of interest. But all he said was, "No, thank you. I'm fine." Regretfully, this was not the time for playing games.

Salymar's eyes stayed locked on his face for a moment longer before the man turned away and indicated Lex should follow. "I guess we had better get down to business then," he said.

Lex placed his briefcase carefully on top of a lab table while Salymar walked over to a desk and retrieved a folder from one of the drawers. Looking at the folder in his hand speculatively, Salymar said, "I find it odd that you would be willing to risk your career for a set of calculations."

"I guess it would be odd, if I were actually risking my career," Lex replied, cocking a self-assured eyebrow. "Fortunately, I'm in no jeopardy."

"Would that we were all so confident. Might I ask, though, what is the purpose of this...?" Salymar waved the folder for emphasis.

Lex walked over to him and stood, staring. "You could ask. It would be more than I am willing to discuss, however. Suffice to say that one of my companies is working on a new venture. Those calculations are a key component."

"I see." Salymar's voice was soft. "Must be an important project."

Lex did not comment. "If you don't mind," he said instead, "I'd like to take a look at those figures."

"Of course." Salymar motioned for Lex to sit and use the desk.

Lex held his breath as Salymar offered him the manila folder, had to stop his hand from shaking as he grasped it and sat down in the nearest chair. Reverently, he began to flip through the pages, mentally verifying that the calculations seemed accurate, scanning the figures for the key components that had eluded his own scientists. He found them. It was all so _clear_ now that he could see the computations worked out in black and white. His heart started to pound, the blood roared in his ears like a runaway train as he followed the line of analysis. _Of course!_ Lex was enough of a scientist to appreciate the pure genius that was evident in the work.

 _This is it then,_ he realized as his grip tightened on the page. This was the start—the fruit of all his machinations. These flimsy sheets of paper that he so casually flipped through his fingers were the culmination of five years of frustrating planning, five years of inept scientific experimentation, of dead ends and a slew of unsavory associations. Finally, he was holding in his hands the justification for his latest deal with the devil. These calculations would allow Remy to complete the Janus Project—the project that would bankrupt LuthorCorp's two closest competitors, which would negate Wayne BioTech's stranglehold on the patents for weather-resistant corn and wheat. Negate. Like those patents had never existed.

These innocuous calculations would usher in a new age of biotechnical engineering, with LuthorCorp firmly ensconced at the forefront. _Forever._

Lex let a slow, satisfied smile cross his face as he looked up from the folder and rose to his feet. "Let's finish this," he said as he walked over to the table where he had placed his briefcase.

The briefcase was bio-locked. Salymar watched as Lex entered his passcode into the keypad and pressed his left thumb to the tracker. There was a moment's hesitation as the mini-computer in the case assessed his body heat level and matched code specifications. Salymar stepped forward eagerly as the electronic lock slid open.

"Twenty-four ounces of weapons-grade plutonium, Pu-239 with only three percent Pu-240. Very pure, and exactly as we agreed," Lex said.

Salymar nodded his head as he inspected the sealed lead container that rendered the radiation from the nuclear by-product relatively harmless.

"It is exactly what I said it would be," Lex assured him. "Double-crossing you would be of little benefit to me."

Salymar nodded.

"You can keep the case," Lex said as he took a step backwards. Now that the transaction was complete, he was eager to leave. "It's reprogrammable while it's open and is specially designed to protect the carrier against the radiation from the plutonium," he explained. "Can't be too careful."

Salymar placed the plutonium back in the briefcase and turned toward Lex. "Senator," he began with a wry smile, "you have managed to surprise me. My associates did not think even you would be able to pry so much plutonium from the US military without raising unmanageable suspicions regarding its potential use, jeopardizing your career and your personal freedom." He sighed softly, sounding strangely regretful. His eyes studied Lex's face intently. "Yes. Your project must be very important to you, my friend. Believe me, I am sorry you will not get to see its fruition."

Clearly, something was about to go south on him, and Lex looked around quickly, noted Martin standing quietly off to the side. "What do you mean?" he said.

"I . . . regret . . . that I cannot let you leave here. Although it has been a pleasure meeting you—and under other circumstances," he paused, "I would have liked to get to know you better—it has been decided that your continued involvement in this transaction would not be prudent."

"Wait a minute." Lex raised a hand, pointed at Salymar. "We had an agreement."

"We did," Salymar agreed. "But what if you were suddenly afflicted with an attack of conscience, tried to warn other people in your government about this transaction? That would ruin everything my associates and I have worked so hard to accomplish all of these years. So you see, we can't let you leave here."

Lex backed away. "Son of a bitch--do you think you can just kill a US Senator and get away with it?"

"Don't worry, Senator. We have someone who is going to go to jail for your murder. It has already been arranged. He will be arrested and tried, and will finally confess to committing the act for a reason that has nothing to do with this transaction. I am sure he will be incarcerated for at least ten years, so, in a way, you will be avenged."

Salymar nodded his head and backed away. It was clearly some sort of signal, and Lex just wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it all. Seemed he had outsmarted himself this time. The very precautions he had taken for his own protection—not wanting to know what the plutonium was going to be used for or who was going to use it, not asking any questions—were the very things that had put him so far out on a limb. He had been so close to his goal! Laughter bubbled up in his chest; it was about to break the surface.

Lex heard the gunshot an eternity before he felt the pressure, actually saw the bullet spiraling towards his head in a sort of cinematic non-time—the action slowed to a crawl, somehow seeming outside of reality. What would it take to stop time? Run it backward? Get on and off of it like a train, at any stop, anywhere, on any day? _He had been so close!_ He felt something slam into his body, knocking him aside, and experienced _pain_ as his eyes widened in shock. _Who?_ Then he was falling, and there was blood. There was blood in his eyes, and everything was tinged a bright, reckless red.

 _Kent. The reporter?_ The Daily Planet. _What...?_

Bemused, miles away from reality, Lex attempted to order his body to move, but the action could not be dredged up out of the quicksand that seemed to be all around him, pulling him down. His arms and legs refused obedience. There was noise, somewhere, angry noise, fading off into the distance. But the noise was not anything that could save him, was not anything that his hands could latch onto, as his head slipped quietly beneath the surface.

***

"Lex." Someone was slapping his face. Slapping— "Senator!"

"Stop." Lex reached a hand out, halting the stinging sensation.

"You have to get up!"

Lex opened his eyes slowly. "Peters?" His bodyguard was leaning over him. Dazedly, Lex realized his head was resting in the man's lap. "What...?" What had happened to him?

"I don't know, sir." Peters looked down at him with concern. "You tell me."

Lex struggled to sit up. He was covered in blood, and it seemed to be his own. He wiped a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his vision. His head was killing him.

"Take it easy," Peters said as he helped Lex prop himself up. "A bullet grazed your temple. There's a lot of blood, but I don't think it's serious."

The memory of recent events flooded his mind. Lex blinked twice, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He and Peters were sitting on the ground by the side of one of the tall vats. Lex could see the illuminated area where he had been talking to Salymar, could see the streak of blood that must have been caused by Peters dragging him to a more secure location. He saw two inert bodies on the floor, but from his position he couldn't tell their identities. Salymar and Martin? He didn’t see his briefcase anywhere in his line of sight.

"Williams is dead," Peters said with a slight pressure on his arm.

His chauffeur. Dead? Lex struggled to process the implications around the knot that formed in his chest. "Tell me," Lex said shortly.

Peters ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, sir. One minute we were sitting in the car waiting for you, the next we were being attacked. The car was shot up . . . Williams was hit. Somehow I managed to get out of the car in one piece. Just by luck, really." He exhaled harshly. "I got those bastards, though."

Lex nodded his head, glad for at least that much retribution.

"There was nothing I could do," Edward continued, "and I knew you'd need help. A kid was leaving the building. I took him out. When I got in here, you were already down and those two guys over there," he nodded his head in the direction of the two prone bodies, "were out cold. I finished them off and came to see to you. There was blood all over the place." He paused. "I thought you were dead."

Lex didn’t want Peters to know how close he had come to believing the same thing. "Well, at least you're not saying, 'I told you so.'" Lex smiled at the man, attempting to reassure him even though he felt his own equilibrium was at risk. "You saved my life," Lex added quietly. "Thank you. I won't forget it." Peters returned his smile but quickly turned serious when Lex said, "I need to go over there." Lex pointed at the dead bodies. "Then we have to get out of here. The sooner the better, I think."

"Sir," Peters said, shaking his head, "I don't think we can make it out of here by ourselves. We don't know where the shooters are holed up. The car is a no-go. Even if we get out of the building, how are we going to get through the gate? I didn't see anybody else around to raise an alarm, but we really don't know what's going on here." He paused. "Do we?"

"Not exactly." Lex sighed as he felt in his coat pocket for his phone. _Damn!_ He was going to have to call in reinforcements. Discretion would be shot to hell. "Okay," he said as he started dialing, "we won't try to get out. We'll wait here, call for some help, maybe a helicopter." He scowled. He hated helicopters. And there would be questions…. Then again, it wasn't as if there was a person alive whose silence couldn't be bought.

Telephone conversation finished, troops on the way, Lex knew that he and Peters just had to sit tight until the cavalry arrived. There was only one more thing he had to do. "I have to check out those bodies.”

His bodyguard looked at him askance but did not argue. "Take this," he said as he passed Lex a sleek .45 automatic. "I don't think there's anyone else in here but I'll cover you, just in case."

Slipping the gun into the waistband of his slacks, Lex shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket, using the latter to rid his hands and face of residual blood. Taking a deep breath, he set off, keeping to the shadows, moving to and from anything that could provide him cover. Reaching the first dead body, he identified him. Martin. Lex fished in his pockets and retrieved the man's wallet. He moved to the next body. Surprisingly, the second man was not Salymar, and Lex's heart plummeted to his feet at the realization that Salymar was still alive somewhere. Lex did not recognize this dead man. He looked around quickly. It seemed clear to him that this unidentified man had been the shooter. In fact, it looked as if he must have fallen—or been thrown—off of the catwalk that ringed the building. That meant that there was at least one, maybe two more people whose whereabouts were still unknown. Lex retrieved the man's wallet then quickly inspected his surroundings. It was just as he suspected. His briefcase was gone, including the plutonium. His gaze swept the floor in the area where he had been standing, took in the large bloodstain, noticed . . . Was that…?

Amazed, Lex stumbled across the floor, falling onto his hands and knees. He reached under the table and retrieved the folder. The folder with the calculations that would change everything. He couldn't help himself—he started to laugh. Loudly. Uncontrollably. He saw Peters waving at him frantically from across the way, but Lex couldn't stop himself. He hugged the file to his chest and laughed at his good fortune, his sheer, dumb luck. He always seemed to have an angel on his shoulder, or a devil—some supernatural being akin to Destiny and Fortune, the deities who watched over him, made sure that he always landed on his feet, that he always came out on top.

It wasn't until after they had made it out and safely away, in the dark hour right before daybreak—when he was at home, staring into the fireplace, sipping tea and picking through the events of the evening, trying to remember exactly what had happened, what had gone wrong—that he suddenly captured the flittering, forgotten bit that had been teasing the edges of his mind since he had regained consciousness. It was a memory, a pressure. Color—in a world bereft of color. Blue. Shades of blue. Eyes. Eyes that seared. Eyes that seared his soul.

Startled, a sudden tightness gripped the pit of his stomach as he isolated the memory, dissected it; he examined its implications from every remarkable angle. Lex got up slowly from his chair and crossed the room to the telephone. He needed to get in touch with his assistant and the need was a like a quick rush of adrenaline. He briefly considered calling her at home then disregarded the thought as impractical. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was too early; it was five in the morning. "Dammit," he said aloud, frustrated, as he realized that there was nothing she could really do for him until after nine anyway.

After a moment's consideration, he dialed a number at LuthorCorp and left a message on her voicemail. "Althea," he said, "I need a full report on Clark Kent, reporter for _The Daily Planet._ Background, what he's into—everything. As soon as possible. And cancel all of my morning appointments. I'll be out at the lab all day. Please call Victoria and have her meet me there by ten. I also need to see Jason. Tell him to be in my office on the east campus at four. No excuses."

The phone call had partially relieved the pressure to do something immediately about the fact that Clark Kent— _the goddamn reporter!_ —had not only been a witness to the events at SalyBioTech, but had also effectively saved his life. The ramifications would surely have a staggering effect on his plans, on his career. The thought worried him, made him anxious in a new and uncomfortable way, but Lex took a deep breath and steeled himself to patience. He had a lot of confidence in his people; they were all very good at their jobs and could be relied upon to dig up every piece of dirt in existence on Kent—dirt that could be used to keep the man under wraps, no matter what he had seen or overheard. By the end of the day, he would know exactly what was going on, and as soon as he had the proper information, he would take steps to regain control of a situation that threatened to spiral out of control.

Somewhat mollified and nursing this small feeling of relief, Lex walked over to the large patio doors and opened them. He stepped out into the twilight and studied the slowly brightening sky as the wild, blustery wind blew cold against his face—the icy cold wind that brought with it questions, and a bright, auspicious dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

"Something else, sir? Sir?"

"Sorry. Yes. I'll have another."

Clark Kent sighed softly, laying his newspaper down and scanning the room with a blue-tinged indifference until the waiter returned with his second glass of expensive Scotch. This smoke-filled cigar bar had become one of his favorite haunts over the last several months. He sat in his usual shadowy corner, sipping his drink distractedly while trying to attribute his recent weariness to one single aspect of his life, wondering to himself why, all of a sudden, the ordinary, worn out ways of every day seemed so muted, blunted--a repetition of vanities.

Who was he kidding? He knew exactly what had been bothering him lately. It was that old persistent tugging on his heart. What was he doing in Metropolis anyway, so near to Lex Luthor, yet so very far away?

Frustrated, Clark picked up his paper again, determined not to dwell on feelings that had no meaning and decisions that could not be changed. He forced himself to focus on the day's financial headlines, and for about ten minutes he was able to dredge up some interest in a couple of articles about the current market crisis in Jakarta. Then, like a gentle breeze, a new undercurrent ruffled the room. On reflex, Clark used his acute hearing to eavesdrop on snatches of conversation without having to look up from his paper. Just from the reactions of the men in the room, he knew that his handler, Diana Prince, had arrived.

He set his paper down and got up from his chair as Diana approached his table. "Clark," she said, smiling at him fondly. The way the men in the room eyed him enviously as she placed a manicured hand on his arm was almost enough to make Clark laugh. He grinned at her in appreciation of her performance. _Leave it to the princess to bring the house down by simply sashaying across the room._

"Diana," he said, allowing her to kiss him on both cheeks. She was model-tall and in three-inch heels; Clark barely had to duck his head at all in order for her to reach.

"You're looking good, handsome." She reached out and straightened his tie. "Armani?" He nodded. "Blue is definitely your color." The corner of her lips quirked up as his cheeks flushed red. "You put the rest of the men in here to shame."

Clark dismissed her compliments with a self-conscious sigh and a shake of his head as he pulled out her chair.

"Scotch?" Diana sniffed disdainfully. "You drink too much of that stuff, Clark."

Clark shrugged. He emptied his glass in one defiant gulp and motioned for the waiter. "It's not like it'll kill me." The waiter appeared. Clark ordered a refill and Diana ordered a glass of wine.

"That's not the point. Obviously, the liquor's not going to kill you, but the fact that you feel the need to put some sort of buffer between yourself and your life..." She paused.

"I don't need you mothering me."

"I'm not mothering you," she said, raising an eyebrow. "The fact of the matter is, you're the department's best asset and it's my responsibility to make sure you're not going off the deep end."

The waiter returned, which precluded the sharp remark that sat poised on the tip of his tongue. As the waiter left the table, Clark found that his opportunity to respond had somehow passed him by. Diana's eyes dared him to deny her the right to care for him as she saw fit. He glowered as she took a sip of her wine and stared at him implacably over the rim of her glass.

Sighing inaudibly, he gave up. There was simply no upside to arguing with his handler. Instead, he decided to show her that he was fine, asking with a smile that was only slightly strained, "What've you been up to? How's Steve?"

Clark felt a tiny flicker of relief as she immediately launched into a dissertation on the status of her relationship and the many ways that Steve was the absolute epitome of masculinity. Although on a regular day Clark would have found her stories interesting and amusing, he just didn't have the necessary focus to be an attentive friend this evening. Shortly, his attention started to wander. Looking at Diana but through and past her, Clark found himself fascinated by the people walking down the sidewalk outside, passing in front of the bar, oblivious to his covert inspection. He wondered who they were and whether they were happy; wondered whether or not any person ever managed to be truly happy for longer than a short span of time; whether that period of past happiness was enough to last a person a lifetime, or whether happiness just burned itself out, until there was nothing left but a cold pile of ashes.

"I hate it when you do that."

Clark jumped, re-focused on Diana. "Do what?"

"Look right through me."

"I wasn't exactly--"

"Save it, Clark. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bull. I could tell the minute I got here that you were upset about something. Not to mention you haven't heard a word I've said in the last fifteen minutes."

"Sorry," Clark mumbled, looking down at the table.

"Is this about Cecil Pacer? They've found a way to control his powers, got his molecular mutation isolated, and he's slowly regaining the use of his arms and legs. It's not your fault that he lost control like that. There was nothing else you could have done to save him. You’re only one person, Clark, no matter how many wonderful talents you may have." She paused then smiled slyly. "He's been moved from the lab to the Rose Sanctuary. I hear he has a cell right next to your old friend, Jeremy Creek."

Clark scowled. "Funny."

Diana opened her eyes wide, adding a disingenuous, "What? If Mr. Creek has to be obsessed with someone, you're the logical choice. You are rather easy on the eyes."

Clark didn't answer, merely waving for the waiter to refill his glass. He didn’t want to think about Jeremy Creek and all the trouble the man had caused him over the years. Jeremy only served to remind him of the mistakes he had made during that week in October, ten years ago. How that week had changed his life forever, had somehow, without his conscious volition, tied his life so inextricably to Lex Luthor.

"Is Lois giving you grief?" Diana's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"No, Lois is fine."

"Are you dating someone new?"

"Of course not." Clark looked up quickly, indignant.

Diana studied him. "I think you need to see other people, Clark. You're too young to spend all of your time mooning over a woman who's older than you. Especially not a woman who wouldn't be worthy of your attention on a good hair day."

Clark frowned. He really hated it when Diana started to harp on Lois. "She's not actually older than me so stop it, Diana. I love Lois. I don't want to date anyone else."

"Just because you spent what seemed to you to be five years in some sort of time-out-of-reality doesn't mean that you are on the same emotional level as someone like Lois. However you want to add up your age, in real life terms--the life you have lived--you’re only 25. There's so much more to life than working for OHS and saving the world twice a month. I just want you to live a little, Clark, stop being so serious, enjoy some of the things that other people your age enjoy."

"I'm not like other people. I'd give anything to be just like everyone else." He paused. "The way I feel about Lois is the only normal thing in my life," he added quietly.

"Fine," Diana answered heatedly, clearly annoyed. "Then why don't you move in with her or something? You could use someone to take care of you, then maybe you wouldn't feel the need to drink so much. You don't have to be so alone, you know."

"Right. Move in with her. Great solution. All I have to do is say, 'Gee, Lois, let's shack up. And by the way, honey, I'm an alien from the planet Krypton, but don't worry, I'm almost as normal as a three dollar bill.'" He stopped, realizing that his voice had risen, that he was taking his frustration out on Diana and that her prodding was only her way of trying to help. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but do you think that I want to live like this?"

"Clark," Diana reached across the table and touched his hand, "if she loves you I'm sure she'll understand."

"I can't tell her," Clark enunciated carefully, as if he were explaining the facts of life to a five year-old. "It would be too dangerous. I couldn't offer her a normal life. She'd always be worried about me, and I'd always be worried that some maniac would try to use her to get to me. I just can't-"

Diana interrupted him with a frustrated noise and a hand gesture. "It seems to me if you love her as much as you say you do, all of this would be irrelevant. Don't you trust her to keep your secret?"

"It's not that I don't trust her," he said in a rush, frustrated. If he had known Diana was going to get on his case, he would have found a way to skip this meeting altogether. "I won't put her through that."

"Have you ever told _anyone_ about your origins, Clark, other than the people associated with OHS? Friends?"

"Yes," Clark answered slowly, suddenly on guard, alert to the possibility that Diana has some sort of hidden agenda. He knew his handler. Once she got it in her mind to pry, no secret was safe.

"I think you just don't want to be disappointed. Someone you've told in the past must have hurt you somehow."

Clark shook his head. "You're wrong. It's for her own good--"

"So you're protecting her? I don't buy it. I think that's an excuse. I think she's an excuse."

"What?"

Diana didn't answer. Instead, she glanced casually down at the silver briefcase that was partially hidden under the table, the reason why the two of them had to have a face-to-face instead of their usual vidaphone check-in. "Good job, Clark," she said, nodding towards the case. "I read your report." She stared at him, face placid, eyes wide and blue. "Good thing you were in a position to intervene."

Clark glared at her, disconcerted by her sudden switch from personal to business matters. He realized, somehow, Diana knew something _more_ than what he had included in his report of events as they unfolded at SalyBioTech. "Thanks," he said and used a foot to discreetly push the briefcase over to her side of the table. Despite his discomfort at the possibility of having to explain his actions to his handler, Clark was genuinely relieved to be rid of his responsibility for the plutonium.

"I have some good news for you," Diana continued smoothly. "Donovan's out. I know how much you hated that jerk" She smirked. "Amanda Waller has been appointed the new director of our division, effective January, which is so much better for us. Waller has been briefed on our autonomy by the President. She's not the type to go looking under rugs. We should be able to operate without all the problems that came up because of Donovan's nosiness. I really hate men who don't understand those four simple words, 'This doesn't concern you.'

"By the way," she added quickly, "did you get a chance to study the information I sent you on the robberies?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Eyewitnesses say that more than one person worked the crowd, collecting everyone's jewelry, but they remember little else. It seems we're dealing with a group of criminals who have some sort of ability to make others forget what happened to them. Fortunately, no one has been seriously hurt yet, but I think it's just a matter of time. These criminals have a particular penchant for diamonds--though, I don’t know why because nothing has surfaced on the black market--and have only hit large gatherings of the city’s elite. I think the next target could be the annual World Hunger Relief fundraiser at the South African Embassy on Thursday. Not only will the cream of society from around the world be in attendance--all decked out and dressed to the nines--but the embassy is also exhibiting a selection of ancient African jewelry, which includes the Koie Nar, the biggest diamond in the world. Security is expected to be tight but, obviously, ordinary measures will be of little help if this group really does have some sort of supernatural ability. Can you scare up an invite?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Just be careful to keep it low-key, Clark. I don't want to see you on the cover of the _Inquisitor,_ and I don't want you getting in over your head."

"Don't worry about me. I'm 'Superman,' remember?" He couldn't keep a touch of bitterness from creeping into his voice at the mention of his annoying code name.

Diana studied him speculatively. "Maybe you need a change," she said, as if suddenly coming to a decision. "I was thinking about having you reassigned anyway. Maybe we could switch with Kyle Rayner. I'll speak to his handler. Rayner could protect this region of the country and you could handle the East Coast--"

"No!" Clark cut her off. He realized his voice was a little louder than it needed to be and he glanced around, making sure that he hadn't attracted any unwanted attention. "My life is here. In Metropolis," he continued more calmly. "I don't want to leave."

"I don't understand. You're clearly unhappy, but you don't want to change anything. Excuse me but I have to ask: Does this have anything to do with your friend Lex Luthor?"

Clark looked at her sharply. "He's not my friend."

"Really?" She nodded her head to indicate the silver briefcase. "Your report on the incident at SalyBioTech was surprisingly vague, Clark." She raised an eyebrow. "So you _didn't_ recognize the man making the transaction?"

Clark scowled at her. _How had she found out?_ As much as he wanted her to leave off the subject entirely, he couldn't lie to her--at least, not directly to her face. "I recognized him."

"Thought so. You say he's not your friend but you have a very strange way of dealing with him. Why not report him?"

"I was able to retrieve the plutonium." Clark shrugged. "Nothing actually happened."

"So you decided to risk both our careers by leaving out that small fact?" She looked at him for a moment, lips pursed, eyes stony. Diana reached into her bag and pulled out her iPad. She poked it and then passed the device to Clark. "That's the file on Fahid Salymar," she said.

Clark read the information on the screen in the time it took Diana to draw in her next breath then forwarded the display. He stopped at a picture of a man in his mid-fifties with a graying beard and piercing brown eyes. The picture was labeled 'Fahid Salymar'.

"This is not Salymar," Clark said, shaking his head. "At least, this is not the guy I saw."

Diana took the device from Clark and punched a few buttons. "Is this him?" She passed the tablet back to Clark with a different photo on the screen.

He needed only a second to identify the man. "Yes. This was the guy making the exchange."

"That's Fahid Salymar's eldest son."

Clark had the sinking feeling that Lex had gotten himself involved in more than his usual borderline business deal since Diana seemed so concerned, and that his own attempt to nip the whole thing in the bud was about to backfire. "What's this all about?"

"Well, in an effort to cover your ass and, by association, my own, I took your report and did some research. Give here." She took the tablet and pulled up another picture. "This is Savion Gerber, a German physicist. Gerber was apprehended in 2004 by the Uzbekistan government and has been held in that country in an undisclosed location for the past seven years. It seems Lex Luthor needed something from him. The Senator must have needed it pretty badly because when he realized there was no way to get to Gerber legitimately, he arranged the deal with Salymar--a deal that could easily cost him his career and his future ambitions. The question becomes: What was the Senator after?"

"He was trading the plutonium for a folder. He said they were research calculations."

Diana cocked her head, stared at him. "Clark, why didn't you retrieve the folder?"

Clark looked away. He didn't want to get into this with Diana, didn't want to discuss what had really happened at SalyBioTech: that there had been kryptonite somewhere at the facility; that as he had gotten closer to the three men, he had gotten sick; that he had panicked, knowing Lex was about to be shot in the head and feeling too weak to do anything; that with all of his super speed, he had almost been too slow to save him. After it was over, Clark had just grabbed the suitcase and had gotten out of the building; finding the folder hadn't even occurred to him.

He couldn’t explain what had happened that night to Diana even though she was one of his closest friends. He had never told OHS about his vulnerability to kryptonite. There was only one person, other than his parents and Chloe, who knew about that chink in his armor. _Or used to know._ The need to keep secret the effects of kryptonite on his powers was one of the many things he had learned the hard way through his association with Lex Luthor: Trust no one completely; some cards were best held close to the chest.

"I...I didn't have time," Clark said, looking down at his empty glass. He knew his answer was lame, but what could he say? "I didn't want anyone to see me."

"So, you felt that it was more important that Senator Luthor not _see_ you than it was to completely identify and neutralize the threat?" Diana's voice was flat. "Would it have made any difference to you if you had known that Gerber's field of expertise is the physics of time anomalies? Gerber was the scientist who was instrumental in developing the time displacement fields that hospitals use to preserve organs until they can be transplanted into a patient. He won the Nobel prize for his work in 2002."

"I didn't know--"

Diana cut him off. "Do you have any idea what Lex Luthor is doing?"

"No."

"Well, I think we’d better find out, don't you? I'm sure we don't want to be surprised." Diana sighed. "I'm worried about you, Clark."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"I hope so because I need you to find out what Luthor is planning, why he risked so much to get his hands on those calculations. In fact, a copy of those calculations would be nice." She smiled slightly. "You may have to get close to him, at least until we can figure out what's going on. Maybe even try to get inside that LuthorCorp lab he has set up east of the city. With your press credentials and special abilities, you're the best person for the job."

Clark looked away. "I'll take care of it."

Diana studied him. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"No."

"Good, because Lex Luthor is an important man but this whole thing smells funny to me, beyond the usual political crapola. Word around town is that next year he's going to run for Bronsen's US Senate seat, and I think he'll win it. The man is so young and so wildly successful; he's bound to be the popular choice."

"He should be in jail," Clark said.

Diana picked up her glass and stared at Clark over the rim. "Why would we need to throw him in jail," she asked coyly, "when we have you watching his every move?"

Clark scowled. "This isn't a joke, Diana. Lex Luthor is dangerous. He always has been." Clark paused, looking down at the table then up at his handler defiantly. "Someone has to keep an eye on him."

Diana set her glass down hard. "You know, ever since I've known you, Clark, you've had this thing about Luthor. Six months after I recruited you at Princeton, I entered this fact in your file: Lex Luthor is a problem of undefined extent. I might even go so far as to call it an obsession. You use _The Daily Planet_ as this bully pulpit to keep him in check--all those articles on every move that he makes--don't think I haven't noticed. And then you attribute every article you write concerning Luthor and his activities to Lois, setting her up on some sort of journalistic pedestal. You have the world believing that she's the best reporter in Metropolis."

"She is."

"Give me a break." Diana rolled her eyes. "I haven't pressed you about your relationship with Luthor before because, frankly, it hasn't impacted anything that we've been doing, but now my instincts are telling me that this is about to blow up in my face. It's just not like you, Clark, to lie about something that so clearly affects national security."

"I didn't lie!"

"Semantics," Diana said shortly. "You know, I'm beginning to think that your judgment is somehow impaired with regard to Luthor, and I simply can't ignore this anymore. You may not want to, but before we start on this project, you're going to have to tell me what's happening here. Be straight with me, Clark: What is this morbid fascination you have with Lex Luthor?"

"What?" Clrk's voice was bitter, sarcastic. "You actually need me to tell you about my life? I thought OHS knew everything about me."

"Clark..."

Clark loosed a harsh breath, trying to calm himself. He didn’t _want_ to take his frustration out on Diana--it simply wasn't right or fair--but he felt he shouldn’t be forced to re-hash his relationship with Lex, not for the agency, not for his handler, not for anybody.

"Sorry, princess," he said at last. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Sometimes, it's just..." He stopped, at a loss.

"Clark, I'd be lying if I said that I completely understand your problem here. You have everything in the world going for you. You're young, rich, you do work that you obviously love at _The Daily Planet,_ you have Lois; you protect this country and make a _difference._ You're one of the most important men in the world. The world wouldn’t be the same without you. What could possibly be so important about Lex Luthor that would cause you to be this upset? From what it says in your file, you barely know him, and I've never gotten any indication that the Senator even knows you exist other than casually--as one of the beat reporters from the paper that covers him from time to time. Somehow," she continued dryly, "I'm beginning to think that what's in your file is only the shell of the story. It might help to talk about it."

"I doubt it," Clark said, staring through Diana, through the wall of the bar and out into the night. How he wished he could just go home! "There's nothing much to say. It was a long time ago."

"Tell me anyway. You met him while you were in Smallville, right?" Diana coaxed.

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen." Clark answered slowly. "At least, based upon how my parents established my age growing up."

"High school?"

"Freshman year."

"I can't believe the two of you were in the same social circle. Did you meet him by accident?"

"By accident?" Clark scoffed bitterly as memories assaulted him, overtaking his resolve to stay away from the past and crushing it like a dried out rose under the heel of a shoe. Clark looked down at his drink and sighed softly in defeat. "Yeah, you could say that I met him by accident...."

~~~

 _Smallville: 2001.10.15_

It was a day unlike any other day, during a week that felt like it had lasted forever--and it was only Monday. Clark walked slowly down Carlan Road towards home, his head ducked, his feet kicking up dust, his red bookbag high on one shoulder. He could have run home, using his unnatural speed to cover in moments the distance that would take him forty-five minutes to walk, but his slow pace matched his state of mind. He didn't want to be home anyway. In fact, he wanted to be anywhere _but_ home.

What was wrong with him? Any moment now he thought his head would explode, that all the pressure that had been building up during the day--the argument with his father this morning, not being allowed to try out for the football team, seeing Lana with Whitney and making a total fool out of himself yet again--would somehow burst through the top of his skull like the steam out of a clogged up pipe. Then there was the small voice in his head--probably his conscience--that picked at him, telling him that he should have stayed at school to watch his friend Pete try out for the football team. But if he had stayed he might not have been able to resist the temptation to try out, too. Show everyone he wasn't just the doofus freshman, Clark Kent; that he had talent, and ability, and could do anything that Whitney Fordman could do, and better. Besides, Pete hadn't really needed his support, so Clark had decided to head home. There had been no real reason for him to stay just to _watch._ Of course, his attitude was probably nine-tenths jealousy, if he were to tell the truth; it was just pettiness on his part, he supposed.

There had to be some way he could show his father that he could be trusted to conceal his strange abilities, but no new ideas came to mind. His life had gotten so complicated lately, a new school, new people. Clark couldn't escape the feeling that something important was supposed to happen, that things were about to change. He wanted to be ready, to be able to pick his own path, to have some control over his own life. If only his father would be reasonable!

Crossing Loeb Bridge, Clark decided to stop. _Why?_ No reason he could put a finger on, other than a certain feeling that the bridge was a good place to stop to think for a while. He stood at the railing, staring down at the water as a truck rumbled down the road, shaking the bridge and kicking up dusty air in its wake. Clark leaned far over the bar, staring down at the murky waves, wondering morosely: Why was his father bent upon turning his life into a big joke? Why was he such a freak? Why couldn't he be like everyone else in the world? How could he ever get Lana to notice him if he had to act like such a loser all the time?

Then there was that certain feeling again, causing him to turn around suddenly for no discernible reason except that he felt he should. And looking down the road, three things happened all at once, in a dreadful, heart-stopping choreography.

Clark saw a blue car hit a bolt of wire sitting in the middle of the road, careen out of control, and come flying right towards him; he saw the driver, locked eyes with him for what seemed like an eternity, saw the terror in those eyes, drowned in those eyes; he felt the car hit his body, felt the terrible pressure and the railing give way behind his back, knew that he was flying through the air and felt himself hit the icy cold water.

Breaking the surface, coughing, trying to catch his breath, Clark panicked. What had just happened? He had been hit by a car. Hit...Clark tried to check himself. Was he bleeding? Dying? Was he hurt at all? How could he not be hurt at all? _He had been hit by a car!_ Spinning around in the water, there was nothing to indicate that anything unusual had just happened. The car...

"Oh my God." Clark didn't think; he dove below the surface. As he realized that the car must have sunk and that the driver must still be in the vehicle, Clark's heart began to pound harshly in his chest. Down he swam, not consciously noticing that he could see perfectly underwater, that he didn't seem to be holding his breath. He could not consciously notice anything; the small voice in the back of his mind was babbling, _Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let him be dead,_ and Clark couldn't think of anything else at all.

Clark spotted the car. He could see the driver in the front seat through the windshield. The man was clearly unconscious, floating in the water like a pale and helpless specter. And Clark could not think, didn't think to open the car door and pull the driver out; he couldn't think past the sound of his own heart beating so loudly in his ears. The man...he looked dead. Clark grabbed the roof of the car and ripped it back as if it were made of paper. He got a grip on the front of the man's shirt and yanked him out of the vehicle, using the hood of the car to push off and send the two of them shooting upwards.

It seemed like an incredibly unfair amount of time before Clark broke the surface. He wrapped his arms around the limp man and pulled him to his chest like a baby. Clark pushed himself towards the shore, and it was the same as when he was running, almost as if he were flying through the water at an impossible rate of speed. Then, he was walking on dry land, carrying a man who seemed to weigh nothing at all, holding onto him tightly as if his grip alone could hold the man in this world. Gently but urgently, Clark laid him on the ground.

The sky and the earth and the wind were still as Clark confirmed that the man was not breathing, as he verified that there was no pulse, no flickering heartbeat to be heard in the man's chest. Clark's first aid training kicked in instinctually--the training he had received along with his first swimming class in the sixth grade--and he pressed his mouth to the man's cold lips, expelling air from inside his own body and into the man's lungs. And with those two timeless exhalations of breath, something that had once belonged to Clark alone slipped quietly, silently away from him and into the other man's lifeless body like a small wave casting itself upon the shore.

"Come on! Don't die on me!" Clark said quietly, urgently, as he tried to palpitate the man's heart.

Strangely, Clark knew the moment the man's heart stuttered to life; he couldn't say later whether he heard it or felt it, or how he suddenly knew that everything was going to be all right, but Clark found himself holding his breath while counting the beats--counting each stuttering heartbeat, waiting for the man to open his eyes.

The man coughed and spit up water, then coughed some more. Clark concentrated on the rhythm, the sound that was getting stronger by the second and pounded with a cadence that was syncopated rather than metronomic. Slowly, the man opened his eyes and fixed his gray gaze on Clark's face. His intense regard seemed scorching hot to Clark, and he felt his face flush in response.

"I could have sworn I hit you," the man whispered.

Clark hesitated, his eyes locked on the man's face, and he spoke a halting lie. "If you did, I’d be..." He paused, unsure. "I’d be dead." Breaking the intense scrutiny, Clark turned, looking back at the bridge, at the mangled, broken railing, and, suddenly, everything that had happened seemed to fall down upon him like an anvil out of the sky. Clark could not breathe.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Clark felt a grip on his arm and turned back to stare at the man whose life he had just saved. The man had managed to sit up and was watching him with concern. Clark found his throat was too dry; he couldn't scare up enough moisture to frame an answer. _Am I all right?_ In the distance, Clark could hear sirens approaching.

Pulling away, Clark got to his feet as two police cars veered off the road and stopped a short distance from the riverbank. Three uniformed officers approached him at a jog. "What's your name, son?" one officer asked.

"Clark. Clark Kent."

"We need to see your driver's license."

"I don't--"

"What exactly happened here?"

"I--" Clark took a step backwards.

"I can tell you what happened. That boy saved my life."

Clark turned, startled.

"Lex Luthor," the man said to the police officers, holding out a hand. Even pale and dripping, the man's countenance commanded immediate attention.

Clark watched as Lex Luthor handled the police with a degree of savvy that told Clark he obviously wasn't as young as Clark had first thought. Even when the ambulance pulled up and the emergency workers insisted on checking them both and draping blankets over their shoulders, Lex Luthor seemed to have everything under control. Clark sat down on a convenient abutment and simply watched him with a certain rapt fascination, shocked that a man only ten minutes removed from death could exude so much forceful energy. Clark still couldn't believe that the man he had pulled out of the river was Lex Luthor--of THE Luthors. It only bothered him a little that the man had barely said two words to him.

His father arrived like a mini whirlwind.

"Clark!" Jonathan Kent called out as he raced over. "Son, are you all right?"

Clark had been asking himself the same question, and the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to indicate that he wasn't exactly all right, but, of course, he couldn't say that to his father. "Yeah, I’m okay," he said instead, trying to muster up enough conviction to make it sound convincing.

Then his father did two things that made Clark want to drop dead with embarrassment. First, Jonathan yelled out to a nearby trooper, "Who's the maniac that was driving that car?"

"That would be me. Lex Luthor," answered the man in question.

Clark watched as Lex Luthor extended his hand to his father to shake, watched in horror as his father did the second thing that sent the blood rushing to Clark's face; Jonathan simply glared at Lex and ignored his hand altogether. Clark looked on, too shocked to protest. He had never seen his father treat anyone so rudely in his entire life.

"I'm Jonathan Kent. This is my son." Jonathan took off his jacket and put it around his shoulders.

Clark ducked his head. He could feel the weight of Lex Luthor's regard and was confused that it had taken his father's dramatics to get the man to look at him again.

"Thanks for saving my life," Lex said to him as his father stepped between.

Clark felt compelled to look up, to meet those same eyes that had stared at him so intently only twenty minutes before; that same gray gaze that seemed to sweep him up and grab hold of him like a vise. "I’m sure you would have done the same thing," he answered, breaking eye contact and ducking his head. Clark got up and started walking towards the road and his father's pick-up truck. Too much had happened today; he felt weird, and he wanted to go home.

"You have quite an extraordinary boy there, Mr. Kent. If there is any way I can repay you--"

Clark turned around quickly to find Lex Luthor with a grip on his father's arm. Jonathan was none too happy about it, and Clark held his breath, hoping his father wouldn't do anything else to cause a scene.

"Drive slower," Jonathan said as pulled away from Lex and put his arm around Clark's shoulders, leading him towards the truck. Clark exhaled and with one last look behind him, allowed his father to take him home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

 _Smallville: 2001.10.15_

The dusk lingered. Clark had the feeling that night would never fall, that the amazing events of a few hours past had driven a stake through the substance of his life, pinning him forever to that extraordinary moment on the riverbank when Lex Luthor had first opened his eyes. Clark could barely believe it had all happened. He had actually saved someone's life.

Clark closed the door to his bedroom and headed down the stairs. He could hear his parents whispering quietly in the living room. Undoubtedly, they were talking about him. Both his parents seemed shocked--appalled?--that he had been able to use his strange gifts to actually help someone. Clark didn't know how he was going to tell them the rest of the story: that he not only rescued a man, he had also been hit by the car; that even though he had been hit by a car going at least 60 miles per hour, he didn't have a scratch on him. It was...unnatural. Clark swallowed. He wasn't sure he could ever tell his parents exactly what had happened.

He crossed the kitchen and headed out the back door. Lana usually sat on her porch in the evening. No matter how terrible his day had been, Clark could not deny himself his daily dose of watching her. She was the one normal thing in his life, even if she wasn't exactly in his life. He strode towards the barn and headed up the stairs.

Clark would always be grateful to his father for setting up the loft for his use. He was rarely disturbed when he retreated to his 'Fortress of Solitude' to think or to be alone. More private than his room in the house, the loft was almost like having his own apartment. Though his parents were liable to show up on the main floor of the barn at any time during the day while they were doing chores around the farm, it was an unspoken policy that they never entered the barn after six o'clock at night. In the evenings, Clark had the place all to himself.

He walked over to his telescope that pointed out of the giant loft window and looked through the spyglass. No Lana. Disappointed, he puttered around, checking back occasionally, then settled on updating his journal with the day's events. He picked up a pen and started to write: _Today I met Lex Luthor._ He stopped, pen poised above the paper as his mind's eye recalled the instant Lex Luthor had opened his eyes with startling detail. How _had_ he felt then? How did he feel now? Clark put the pen down, frustrated; he couldn't seem to find a concise way to detail everything that had happened and all the strange things he was feeling. In fact, he was a little afraid to try.

Heading back towards the telescope, he fiddled with it a minute. He looked through the spyglass and saw...Lana. His heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled sharply. She was so beautiful! She had on a thick sweater; her long brown hair was pulled back from her porcelain face, the ends dancing lightly on the wind. Clark stared through the telescope raptly and watched as Lana sat down, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. Clark smiled wistfully, imagining himself as the guy who would be sitting by her side, with an arm around her shoulders, making sure she was warm enough. Then Whitney entered the picture, bursting rudely through his dreams and putting _his_ arms around Lana. Clark scowled in frustration. _Where had Whitney come from?_

For twenty minutes Clark watched as Lana and Whitney talked. What was he saying to her that made her smile at him so fondly? How was it that Whitney always seemed to know how to make her laugh? Life just wasn't fair and the only consolation to be had was watching Whitney finally head off and being able to watch Lana undisturbed at last.

The satisfaction Clark took in his unobstructed contemplation of Lana Lang lasted a scant five minutes more because, very soon after Whitney drove away, she headed into the house. Left with nothing more to see, Clark was about to take another crack at his journal when a black car sped down Lana's driveway, kicking up gravel and stopping abruptly in front of her house. Clark watched, amazed, as Lana's aunt Nell got out of the passenger's side of the car and Lex Luthor the driver's...and Clark’s attention--which had been so intently focused on Lana Lang a few minutes earlier--narrowed even further.

 _Lex Luthor knows Lana's aunt? What is he doing out here?_ Clark started to pace but was drawn back to the telescope. He was so agitated, suddenly; there didn't seem to be enough air in the loft to pull into his lungs. He watched as Lex kissed Nell on the cheek, watched as Nell headed into the house; watched as Lex waved when Nell turned around at her front door, and watched as Lex got back into his car. Clark tilted the telescope and followed the car as it backed out of Lana's driveway and drove slowly down the road in the direction of the Kent farm. For some reason, Clark wasn't even surprised when he saw the car stop at the top of his driveway.

Clark watched the idling car in terrified fascination. Was Lex Luthor intending to come to his house? Why was the car just sitting there? Was he going to enter the driveway or just drive off? Clark fretted; he felt he should do something...but what? He frantically weighed his options: He could stay where he was and, maybe, the car would drive off--but then he would never know why Lex Luthor had stopped at his house in the first place; he could wait and see if the car actually entered his driveway and whether Lex Luthor actually knocked on the door to his house, looking for him--but the memory of how his father had treated the man after the accident decided Clark in a hurry. Using his quickest speed, he raced from the loft to the barn door. Once outside, he sprinted in no-time around the back of the house and then stepped out from behind a tree up the road from the car, as if he had been walking in his family's upper pastures. He was sure Lex Luthor could see him.

"Clark!"

Acting surprised, Clark turned in Lex’s direction. As he approached, he noticed the car was one of those very, very expensive models that he couldn't even name. Clark whistled admiringly. "Nothing like getting right back on the horse," he said dryly. Lex smiled at him and Clark grinned back, feeling buoyant that he had managed to say something at least a little witty.

"I just got into town today," Lex said, watching him with a gaze that made Clark somewhat self-conscious. "Since my own car looks like a smashed tin can, I had to use one of my father's. My father doesn't appreciate the fact that less can, on rare occasions, be more, or that it might seem ridiculous to drive such an expensive car in the country."

"It’s a beautiful car, Mr. Luthor," Clark said.

"No," Lex said quickly. "Call me Lex."

"Okay," Clark said, ducking his head. "Sure."

After a few tense moments of silence, Clark raised his head to find Lex staring at him. Clark's face flushed; he couldn't help it, and he cursed himself roundly for being so transparent.

"Do you want to go for a ride?"

Clark's mouth dropped open in shock. "Yeah," he answered, looking quickly behind him at his house and confirming that all the lights were off, which meant that his parent's were already in bed and wouldn't miss him. "That would be great." Lex smiled at him and Clark grinned back before heading towards the passenger's side of the car.

"This is really cool," Clark said, looking at the dashboard and all around the interior of the car. He had never been in such a gorgeous car--and it was a convertible, too!

"My father has great taste in cars and women," Lex said, lightly mocking. "I'm glad you like it."

They drove back towards Lana's house, and maybe it was the sight of it looming in front of them that made Clark blurt, "How do you know Lana's aunt?" before he remembered that he shouldn't have known that Lex had been in the area dropping Nell off.

Lex looked at him quizzically but didn't ask him any questions, and for that, Clark was very grateful. Clark thought if he had to explain how he had watched Lex pull up in front of Lana's house with Nell through the telescope in the loft he would die of embarrassment.

"Nell is a friend of my father's,” Lex explained. “She sold him a bunch of land about ten years ago and they've been friends ever since. I think they even dated once upon a time. Being that she's the only person that I really know at all in Smallville, I called her at her flower shop after the accident and asked her to meet me. She helped me get a few things organized. I even asked her about you." Lex glanced over at Clark. "She told me that you lived next door. I was just dropping her off when I decided that I might stop by your house and thank you a bit more properly. I was afraid that, with all the confusion after the accident, I didn't really express my gratitude to you for saving my life." He grinned. "I was just debating whether or not to risk your father's wrath by showing up on his doorstep unannounced, when you appeared."

"I'm sorry about that," Clark said quickly. "I think my father was just upset about the accident and all. He can be a little overprotective sometimes."

"Understandable," Lex said. "If I had a son like you, I'd be overprotective too. I'm sure he was very proud of what you did today."

"I suppose." Clark wanted to stay away from a discussion of the accident. He didn't like lying, and he suspected he wasn't any good at it anyway. "How old are you?" he blurted instead, then kicked himself mentally because it was such a juvenile thing to say. "I mean," he added quickly, "I thought you were closer to my age when...well, when I pulled you out of the water, but when you were talking to the police officers, I got the impression you were a lot older..." Clark felt the heat rise in his face again, and berated himself for asking such a dumb question and following it up with such a lame explanation.

Lex just smiled. "How old are you?" he countered.

"Fifteen."

"I'm twenty-one," Lex said, conspiratorially. "In fact, today's my birthday."

"Your birthday?"

"Yep, so aren't you glad that you rescued me? I hear it's considered bad form to die on your birthday."

Clark didn't know what to say. "Don't you--"

"Have something more exciting to do on my birthday?" Lex chuckled. "This was supposed to be my first day in charge of LuthorCorp's Smallville plant. I figured the new job was enough excitement for today."

"Your father put you in charge?"

"Yeah, undoubtedly against his better judgment," Lex offered dryly. "Do we know where we're going?" he asked suddenly.

Clark had been looking at Lex, excited and completely focused on their conversation. He had to take a moment to regain his bearings and figure out exactly where they were, but as soon as he had their location pinpointed, he made a sudden decision. "Turn left here," he said as the car approached a gravel turnoff. "Slow down a little." The car rolled sedately up a spiraling incline, stopping a short distance from the edge of a bluff that jutted out over a low-lying valley.

Lex turned the car off, looking out the window silently for a moment. "This is beautiful, Clark."

Clark was pleased. "It's called Blue Hill Bluff." He held up a hand as Lex opened his mouth to protest. "I know, it's a salt hill, and the hill's white not blue, but don't bother explaining it to the locals." Clark shrugged a shoulder, grinning lopsidedly. "I come up here all the time with my telescope. It's a great place to see most of the constellations."

"You're into astronomy?"

Clark nodded. "Come on." He opened the car door and stepped out into the night. He headed straight for the ledge.

"Clark..." Lex called out.

Clark turned, grinned. "Come on," he coaxed. He took a seat on the edge of the cliff, while Lex eyed him warily from a distance. "You're not scared, are you?" Clark taunted.

"Never that," Lex said as he took a deep breath and stepped forward. Without looking down, he grabbed hold of Clark's left shoulder and sat next to him quickly. "I'm just not too fond of heights," he added, swallowing loudly and shutting his eyes for a moment.

Grinning, Clark waited for Lex to open his eyes. "Look." He pointed. Grasping his arm, Clark promised, "I won't let you fall." Slowly, they both turned to admire the view.

The world fanned out like a blanket below them, the sky a royal robe of a million small lights above.

"Don't you think this is a little dangerous?" Their feet dangled over the edge.

"We're perfectly safe." Clark shrugged a shoulder. "I've been coming up here for years. Never had any problem. In fact, I'm sure the whole town's been up here, at one time or another. No one has ever fallen off."

"But--"

Clark looked at Lex with a steady gazes. Surprisingly, he knew the precise moment that Lex gave in.

"Okay," Lex said. "Just don't let go."

Clark tried hard to keep a straight face. "Never," he promised solemnly.

It was only a few minutes later that they started talking. It seemed inevitable that they would compare their lives, seek to find some common ground. After all, why else would Clark be sitting with a complete stranger on a cliff in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, except to explore the inexplicable sense of familiarity that he figured must be a strange and wonderful by-product of saving someone's life?

To top it off, everything Lex Luthor had to say was amazing, interesting in Clark's estimation. Lex had lived a life like a story out of a magazine. Clark found out that he had actually gone away to boarding school--in England! He had even gone to college at Princeton and had been the captain of the polo team there, of all things. Clark was impressed and had a hundred questions. He wanted to know what it had all been like, and the questions tripped over themselves in their haste to be spoken. Clark found himself gesturing animatedly to make his points, only belatedly realizing that the only thing still anchoring Lex in his seated position was their two thighs touching--Clark's left leg to Lex's right--but it seemed to be enough.

Clark was also flattered that Lex seemed so interested in him, in his boring life in Smallville. With only a little prompting, Clark told him all about school, about Chloe and Pete, and even mentioned Lana shyly, before blushing and ducking his head. They talked about a large variety of things until the purple blush of impending dawn colored the horizon.

"Dammit," Lex whispered under his breath.

"What?" Clark stopped talking, confused.

Lex had been staring at the sky, off into the distance, but at Clark's question he turned to look at him. "We've been out here a long time. Are you going to get in trouble?"

Clark looked quickly at the horizon, gaping at the brightening sky in horror. They couldn't have been talking that long! Where had the night gone?

Lex ran a hand over his head. "I'm sorry," he said, sighing. "I should have known better--"

"Don't worry about it," Clark interrupted him quickly. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Lex to think he was some little kid who was afraid of getting in trouble with his parents. "My folks are asleep," Clark assured him. He opted to leave out the fact that his father often got up with the dawn and if he wasn't home within the hour, his father would probably call the police. "They won't even know I was out," he assured Lex with false bravado. "I stay out late all the time." When Lex cocked an eyebrow at that assertion, he added lamely, "I have a loft in the barn. Sometimes I stay out there all night. My parents are used to it."

"Good," Lex said, smiling. "We had better get back though, just in case. Even if you don't have to go home, I'm sure you do have to get to school later this morning."

Clark agreed and got up. Extending a hand, he pulled Lex to his feet and didn't let go until Lex was well away from the edge. Clark wanted to make sure he fulfilled his promise and didn't want a sudden bout of dizziness to cause an accident. They walked towards the car in companionable silence, got in, and headed back down the road towards Clark's house. It seemed to take no more than a moment before the car stopped at the entrance to the Kent's driveway.

Confused, Clark didn't know what to make of the silence that persisted as he sat in the car outside of his house. Lex hadn't said a word since they had left the bluff. After a whole night of talking, Clark could only wonder worriedly at Lex's sudden reticence. Maybe he should just leave? Clark turned towards the door and grabbed hold of the handle, preparing to get out of the car.

"Clark, wait."

Clark turned back quickly.

Lex hesitated. "Not too many people around town are going to be eager to associate with a Luthor," he said. "I might need a little moral support, now and then." His gaze sharpened, and he studied Clark's face intently. So intently, Clark had to look away and down, not knowing how to handle such close scrutiny.

"I'd really like it if we could be friends, Clark."

Clark looked up. Friends? Lex Luthor wanted to be friends with him? Clark grinned and nodded. "I think," he offered hesitantly, "that we're already friends."

Lex reached out and touched his arm. "Yes, I think so." He paused. "Clark, you saved my life. I'll never forget that. If you ever need anything..."

Clark grinned. "Just call it a birthday present," he said then stopped, the blood rushing to his face. "Happy birthday, Lex," he added.

Embarrassed, Clark got out of the car in a rush of long arms and legs and waited by the side of the road for Lex to pull off. When the car didn't leave immediately, Clark thought Lex had forgotten something, that he would open the door and step out of the car again for some reason. Clark was holding his breath, waiting for something to happen, when the car jumped forward. Clark followed the car’s progress as it pulled away and sped down the road. He stood there for a long minute, watching, until the small black speck that was his friend's car disappeared over the horizon.

And despite all the excitement of a day unlike any other day in his entire life, a night so extraordinary, Clark was in his bedroom, acting as if he had been asleep all night by the time his mother opened his door to wake him for school.

+

Clark had reached a conclusion: He hated doing interviews.

That reporter from the _Smallville Ledger_ had been relentless. Clark had been sorely tempted to knock the guy out, just to shut him up. After all, how many ways can one guy ask the same question? It was almost as if the man could smell a lie. Clark hadn't known when he agreed to do the interview that he was setting himself up for the third degree. The only good part of the ordeal was that Lex happened to be in the _Smallville Ledger_ office, too, being interviewed at the same time. Clark grinned as he trudged down the road towards his house. Lex had been all suave coolness and brash confidence. Although Clark had tried to emulate him, he was sure that he hadn't pulled off his interview with half as much success.

Clark sighed. Actually, it had all started on Tuesday, the day after the accident, and really, he blamed the entire _Ledger_ interview ordeal on his father.

Dead tired from his night out with Lex, practically comatose on his feet, Clark had walked into the house after school on Tuesday through the back door. His parents had been sitting in the kitchen. The way they had stopped talking immediately as he entered the house screamed that they had been talking about him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing, son," his father had answered. "Just that a reporter called from the _Ledger._ He wants to interview you about the accident yesterday. I told him that I didn't think it was a good idea."

"Without even asking me?" Clark had objected hotly. He had been frustrated. The fact that he hadn't even been consulted seemed to him just another example of his father treating him like a child. He was almost sixteen years old! So Clark had dug in his heals, and after a night and a day of arguing, he had wrung permission from his father to set up the interview for Thursday on his break between fourth and fifth periods.

Clark had been so proud of his victory. Little had he known that his father had been right all along. The reporter had been a real jerk, and Clark was actually glad to be on his way home. It had been a long day.

Walking down his driveway, Clark stopped dead in his tracks. There was a truck parked in front of his house. A truck--a brand new red and white Ford 4x4 with a big blue bow on it--parked and looking like the answer to his wildest dreams. Clark gaped at the car in amazement, then quickly rushed over to where it was parked. He had a feeling...

Clark spied his mother standing by the tractor. "Hey, Mom!" he called out excitedly. "Whose truck?"

His mother pulled off her gloves slowly, looked at him for a moment, then said in that dry voice of hers, "Yours. It's a gift from Lex Luthor." She hoisted herself up and sat down on the tractor seat, pulling an envelop out of her shirt pocket. With a raised eyebrow, she handed the envelop to him.

Clark had butterflies in his stomach. They flew and flipped and raised havoc with his equilibrium. He was surprised he could still keep a straight face. He ran a hand over the envelope, turned it over, and pulled out the card. The large initials 'LL' on the cover fascinated him, and the goofy grin he had been trying to keep off his face materialized unbidden. Clark turned away from his mother so she wouldn't see, and started to read the card out loud.

"Dear Clark," it said. "Drive safely. Always in your debt. A maniac in a Porsche."

Clark's heart was pounding. A new car! "I don't believe it," he whispered. He turned back towards his mother. "Where are the keys?"

"Your father has them."

Clark's face fell and all the excitement and happiness drained right out of him like water from a bucket with a hole in the bottom. _Not this time,_ he thought to himself furiously. He refused to let his father ruin this for him! Clark raced to the barn.

Clark found his father working on the wood chipper. Jonathan must have been expecting him because, before Clark could seek to gain his attention, his father turned off the machine and removed his ear protectors and goggles. He walked towards Clark, shaking his head.

"I know how much you want it, son, but you can't keep it."

Clark stood rooted in place as his father walked past him. _So that's it. Just like that. I can't keep it._

Regaining control of his senses, Clark followed his father. "Why not?" he asked hotly. "I saved the guy's _life."_

"So you think you deserve a prize?"

"That's not what I meant." He hurried to explain. "Look," he tried his most convincing tone, "how about you drive the new one and I'll drive the old one? Everybody wins."

"This is not about winning, Clark."

 _Why did his father always have to be so unreasonable?_ "It's not like the Luthors can't afford it," Clark complained bitterly.

His father sighed. "Do you want to know why that is? Do you remember Mr. Bell? We used to go fishing on his property? How about Mr. Guy? He used to send us pumpkins every Halloween. Well, Lionel Luthor promised to cut them in on a deal. He sent them flashy gifts." Jonathan twirled the car keys around on one finger. "Only once they sold him their property, he went back on his word. He had them evicted, son."

 _What did this have to do with anything?_ Clark felt like yelling. Lex was his friend and it had nothing to do with anything that had happened to Mr. Guy or Mr. Bell a million years ago. "So you're judging Lex on what his father did?" he accused.

"No, Clark, I'm not. I just want to make sure that you know where the money came from that bought that truck."

Clark stood a moment, looking at his father. Just from Jonathan's tone of voice, Clark knew he had no chance of winning this argument. It was so unfair! Giving his father a hard look, Clark rushed up the stairs to the loft.

Clark heard his father sigh behind him. "Clark, I know you're upset, son," he called out, clearly trying to placate him, "but it's normal..."

That was the last straw. His father had dropped one more platitude than Clark could handle. Angry, Clark threw his book bag on the stairs and headed back down. "Normal?" he yelled, pushing past his father and walking over to the chipper. He flipped the power switch and held up his arm. "How about this? Is this normal?" Defiantly, Clark plunged his hand--his entire forearm--into the chipper.

"Clark!" Jonathan yelled, running to him and trying to pull his arm out of the mouth of the machine. Clark resisted, wanting his father to understand that it wasn't necessary--that he wasn't in any danger. The chipper couldn't hurt him. When Clark finally let his father pull his arm out, he felt a small, perverse feeling of satisfaction as Jonathan just stared at it in amazement--as his father realized his arm was completely uninjured.

"I didn't dive in after Lex's car!" Clark yelled, finally giving voice to all the confusion and worry that had been building up inside of him since the accident. "It hit me at 60 miles an hour! Does that sound normal to you? I'd give anything to be normal!" Clark was so frustrated. Why couldn't his father understand?

Clark fled past Jonathan and up to his loft. If he couldn't keep the truck, if he couldn't be a normal person, then he simply wanted to be left alone.

It was just his luck that his father decided to follow him upstairs.

Trying to ignore him, hoping he would go away, Clark moved from the telescope to the chair. Of course, his father followed.

"It's time, son."

"Time for what?" Clark replied, dejectedly.

"The truth." His father sat down next to him. "I want you to take a look at something." Clark watched in confusion as Jonathan unwrapped a flat, rectangular item from a piece of cloth. The object was shaped like a keycard of some sort, with strange, luminescent hieroglyphics across the front that, despite Clark's gloom, caught and held his attention. "I think it's from your parents," Jonathan explained. "Your...your real parents." He passed the object to Clark.

"What does it say?" Clark asked, strangely unwilling to touch the object but curious despite himself.

"I tried to decipher it for years, but it's not written in any language known to man."

Clark looked at his father suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Your real parents weren't exactly from around... _here."_

Clark was cautious. His father was acting weird. What exactly was he trying to say? "Where are they from?" he asked, trying to get to the point.

Jonathan looked in the direction of the telescope. The ridiculous implication was not lost on Clark. He scoffed. "What are you trying to tell me, dad? That I'm from another planet?" His father simply stared at him, and Clark wondered why he had never realized that his father was crazy.

Clark couldn't believe his father expected him to believe-- "And I suppose you stashed my spaceship in the attic?"

"Actually, it's in the storm cellar."

Clark was shocked when his father offered to show it to him. It took all of his willpower not to laugh out loud, but he followed Jonathan down the loft stairs and over to the house. Jonathan stopped at the door to the cellar.

"Son..."

Clark shook his head. He had nothing to say. This was ridiculous. If his father was playing some sort of a game to teach him a lesson, Clark would play along, but it was too much to expect him to talk about it as if he believed--

His father sighed and pulled th cellar door open.

Inside, Jonathan found the light and walked over to a large, covered object sitting in the middle of the floor. Jonathan pulled the tarp off. "This is how you came into our world, son. It was the day of the meteor shower."

Clark backed away. The object in the middle of the floor looked like...a small spaceship. "Wait, this is a joke, right?" Clark turned his back on Jonathan in confusion then turned around in anger. He couldn't believe... His whole life seemed to flicker in front of his mind’s eye like a slideshow--the speed, the strength, the car accident--and supported only one conclusion. It was true! "Why didn't you tell me about this before?" he said, angrier than he had ever been in his entire life.

"We wanted to protect you."

What did Clark want? He wanted to yell, rail at the heavens, curse the stars, and he would have, if he had thought anybody was listening. Instead he yelled at his father, because he was the only person who was around to hear. "Protect me from what?" he hollered. "You should have told me!" Then he started running, and didn't stop until he got to town.

+

Clark slowed down on the outskirts of the business district and started walking. He didn't know where he was going; he was just moving in a forward direction, trying to sort out the mess that was the inside of his head. He picked over every weird event that had ever happened to him in his entire life. Of course he could run like the wind; of course he couldn't be hurt by a mere wood chipper; of course he could jump higher, read faster, do more than anyone else he had ever known; oh no, Clark Kent's not afraid of a speeding car. Clark drew in a ragged breath as he stopped by a tree, trying to regain his composure, wiping at his face, dismissing tears. Of course. _Of course not._ He was a visitor from another planet, an alien. Why wouldn't he be a total freak show?

 _What to do now?_

Clark started walking again. It was getting late. As he reached the main part of town, he was glad to see that most of the stores were closed for the evening. He avoided Mason Street and The Beanery, turning down Main Street instead. He didn't want to see anyone he knew, except--

 _Was that Lex's car outside of Nell's flower shop?_

Heart pounding, Clark crossed the street. Perhaps...Perhaps Lex would be the perfect person to talk to tonight. Not to tell him any of the specifics, of course, but to have someone to talk to generally--someone who was not from town, who was new and different--suddenly appealed to Clark. He picked up his pace. Maybe the two of them could just drive around for a while...

Reaching the flower shop, Clark noted the 'Closed' sign on the door. He peered through the glass and was just about to knock on the window when he saw Lex and Nell come into the main part of the store from the back room. Nell's clothes were mussed, and Clark could see that the two of them were laughing even if he couldn't hear the sounds. And as if what had been going on between the two of them was not perfectly clear, Clark watched with a sinking horror as Lex leaned over the counter and kissed her passionately.

Backing away, Clark rushed up the street on autopilot, towards the edge of town where he could use his speed to take himself away. He blinked, trying to banish the image of Lex kissing Lana's aunt, Nell. _Nell!_

He stopped. What was wrong with him? He took a deep breath, trying to calm his galloping heart. _So what that Lex was kissing Nell?_ It was none of his business anyway. He barely even knew Lex Luthor, and his father had said not to trust the Luthors anyway. Lex could do whatever he wanted to do with Nell. Clark didn't care. _But she was so old..._

Clark couldn't think anymore. He didn't know what to think. He just knew that he felt like he had been kicked in the stomach twice in one day, and he didn't want to go home. He picked up his pace, heading towards his house but way to the east, towards the old cemetery. Maybe he would head home later.

+

Saturday morning dawned sunshine bright and crystal clear. It was the day of the homecoming game and Clark could only wonder, as he parked the red and white truck that Lex had given him by the gate at the Luthor Estate, how the more things changed, the more they seemed to remain the same.

He had stayed home from school on Friday because his mother had been convinced that, besides all the crazy things that had been happening all week, his sudden lack of appetite warranted extreme measures. He and his parents had spent the day talking about his talents and his origins, and the steps that needed to be taken to continue to hide his extraordinary abilities from everyone, even the people that Clark considered to be his closest friends. He had endured a particularly long discussion with his father about Lex Luthor. His father had been surprised at his sudden willingness to return the truck without any further argument, and the unspoken undertone in his capitulation was that after he returned the truck, he would stay away from Lex Luthor altogether.

Clark had known at the time he was giving in, and he hadn't really cared. His father was probably right. What did he have in common with a guy like Lex Luthor anyway?

Reaching the front gate, Clark looked around. There wasn't anybody at the gate to let him in, and there didn't seem to be any way to make his presence known. Clark knew very little about fancy houses that needed gates eight feet high to keep people out. It seemed rather ridiculous to him, but his disdain wasn't helping him get inside to see Lex. About the truck.

Clark looked around. It didn't look like anyone was around... He backed up and jumped, vaulting over the fence by using the top rail as a pivot, and landing on the other side of the gate on one knee. He spared a moment to look around and to brush himself off, then proceeded across the manicured lawn.

As he approached the giant front doors, Clark realized he was nervous. Perhaps he should have called first, or maybe just allowed his father to bring the keys over, or left them with Nell at the flower shop. Clark shook his head. He was here now, and he felt it was only right that he return the keys and thank Lex for the gift in person.

Clark located the ornate bell and pressed it. Two minutes later he pressed it again, and then again, three minutes after that. Convinced that no one was going to answer, something told Clark to try the doorknob. He never considered the possibility that Lex was not at home; his black car was in the driveway, and, anyway, Clark had a feeling that Lex was somewhere around. The feeling was somewhat amorphous, and Clark didn't want to examine it too closely. Turning the knob, the door opened with an ominous creaking. Hesitantly, Clark stepped into the foyer.

"Hello?" he called out, stepping further into the house and peering through the long shadows cast by the dim light.

Slowly, Clark walked down the hallway. He saw a large wooden staircase across from the first room he encountered. Clark walked to the door of the room and, suddenly, heard the distinctive sound of metal striking metal. Startled, he poked his head around the door that was partially open and realized he had come across two people fencing. He stepped through the doorway, about to call out, when one of the combatants pinned the other to the wall. The words stuck in Clark's throat. He watched, fascinated, as the winner took a step back and the loser turned and--threw his sword right at Clark's head. Clark didn't even have a chance to breathe, he was so shocked.

He watched as the guy snatched off his mask. Of course, it was Lex. Clark had recognized him the moment he had peeked in the room.

"Clark?"

Clark glanced nervously at the sword embedded in the wall by his head.

"I didn't see you," Lex continued, striding forward.

Clark tried to answer but found he was speechless, caught off-guard by the man's piercing gaze, the attention focused so intently on his face.

"I...uh...buzzed but no one answered," Clark stammered.

Lex grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it out. "How'd you get through the gate?"

"I kinda squeezed through the bars." He knew how lame that sounded, and added quickly, "If this is a bad time..." Perhaps he should just leave?

"Oh, no, no," Lex said, moving past Clark and into the hallway after tossing his mask across the room at his partner. Lex swept Clark along with him as he passed like a pale broom. "I think Hykia has sufficiently kicked my ass for the day."

 _Hykia?_ "This is a great place," Clark said as he followed Lex towards the staircase. _Who's Hykia? Is she a friend?_

"Yeah?" Lex smiled. "If you're dead and in the market for something to haunt."

"I meant, it's roomy," Clark explained quickly.

"It's the Luthor ancestral home," Lex started up the staircase, "or so my father claims. He had it shipped over from Scotland, stone by stone."

"Yeah," Clark said, thinking back. "I remember trucks rolled through town for weeks but no one ever moved in."

Lex stopped on the stairs and turned around, looking down at Clark obliquely. "My father had no intention of living here. He's never even stepped through the front door."

"Then why'd he ship it over?" Clark asked, confused by the antics of rich folks.

"Because he could." Lex continued his ascent. Clark followed along behind, not really wanting to but finding he had no choice if he wanted to talk to Lex about the truck.

Lex entered a room on the second floor that made Clark stop and catch his breath. It was a workout room, filled with every piece of equipment a person could ever want to use. It was even better than the gym at school. Clark looked around the room in awe--at the gigantic fireplace, the wet bar--and decided he could get used to how the other half lived.

Lex hadn't stopped moving since he stepped into the room. Clark watched, fascinated, as Lex pulled off his white fencing jacket, tossing it negligently on a chair, and picked up a towel to wipe his face. Then he walked quickly across the room to get himself something to drink. Clark was still standing by the door, his eyes following Lex. He studied the man's quick, confident, almost frenzied movements. Everything about Lex was positively mesmerizing, Clark realized; it was sort of like watching a wild bird in a cage.

"How's the new ride?" Lex called out from across the room.

The sound broke into Clark's thoughts, reminding him of his mission. "That's why I'm here," he answered slowly.

Lex had his back to him, getting himself something to drink. "What's the matter?” he said over one shoulder. “You don't like it?"

"No, it's not that." Clark was quick to reassure. "I can't keep it."

Lex paused, set a bottle down and turned. "Clark," he said, walking across the room, "you saved my life. I think it's the least I can do." Lex's eyes caught and held his own with so much earnest gratitude--it was almost hypnotic. The honesty in those eyes made Clark want to apologize for trying to return the truck. Embarrassed, he looked away and down.

"Your father doesn't like me, does he?"

Surprised, Clark took a deep breath to answer but Lex continued before he could explain. "It's okay." He reached up and rubbed a hand across his head. "I've been bald since I was nine." Lex turned away, towards a full-length mirror. "I'm used to people judging me before they get to know me."

Clark felt bad. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had inadvertently hurt Lex's feelings; that by siding with his father and returning the truck, it seemed to Lex that Clark somehow agreed with his father's bad opinion of the Luthors, and that wasn't it at all. Clark hadn't realized returning the truck would be so hard. Distressed, he tried to explain, "It's nothing personal. He's just not crazy about your dad."

Lex was still looking in the mirror. "Figures the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" He nodded as if the sentiment made all the sense in the world. "Understandable." He turned away from the mirror. "What about you, Clark? Did you fall far from the tree?"

Clark knew exactly what Lex was asking: whether he was going to buy into his father's theory on the unsavory nature of Lex Luthor; whether Clark was going to judge Lex on the basis of innuendo before he really got to know him; whether or not they were still friends. Clark didn't say anything, wasn't sure what to say. He ducked his head, confused. Wasn't this exactly why he had come here? To return the truck and neatly nip in the bud any future association with Lex Luthor, just like his father wanted? When Clark chanced to look up, Lex was smiling at him, but only a little.

"I better go," Clark said. He wasn't sure what Lex wanted from him. He couldn't make any promises. His father--Clark shook his head. "Thanks for the truck." He handed Lex the keys, turned and walked towards the door.

"Clark..."

Clark stopped, turning back slowly.

"Do you believe a man can fly?"

 _What?_ "Sure. In a plane," Clark answered, confused.

"No, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about soaring through the clouds with nothing but air beneath you."

"People can't fly, Lex."

"I did," Lex said, turning away. "After the accident, when my heart stopped." He turned back, staring at Clark with his intense gray eyes. "It was the most exhilarating two minutes of my life." Clark watched, spellbound, as Lex's eyes lost a little of their focus and he stared off into space in a way that made Clark nervous. "I flew over Smallville," he continued, "and for the first time, I didn't see a dead end. I saw a new beginning." Lex looked over at him, smiling slightly, wistfully. Clark felt like he had been pummeled, as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.

"Thanks to you I have a second chance."

Clark glanced away, almost wishing Lex would forget about the accident at the bridge. What should he say?

"We have a future, Clark..." Lex said.

 _A future?_

"And I don't want anything to stand in the way of our friendship."

Clark took an involuntary step forward, his mind trying hard to understand the meaning behind Lex's statement. _A future? What future? What kind of future?_ "I'm sure you have lots of friends..." Clark offered.

"Not like you."

"But..." Clark paused. "You don't need me. There's nothing special about me."

Lex took a small step forward. "What if I told you that no one has ever done a truly altruistic thing for me in my entire life? That everyone I have ever known has had an ulterior motive, an agenda, an angle to create an avenue of access to the billionaire's son?" Lex tilted his head, smiling a little. "Clark, you risked your own life to save mine. That type of selflessness is pretty special in my book. Besides," his smile widened, "in some cultures, since you saved my life, it would be yours to protect forever, and I'd owe you a debt that could never be repaid." Lex jingled the car keys then put them in his pocket. "And anyway, I'm _persona non grata_ around these parts. I don't really know anyone in Smallville. I'd be terribly lonely without you to talk to now and then."

"You know Nell," Clark said, then kicked himself because he just knew the tone of his voice sounded off. He had to stop himself from trying to explain what he meant, hoping Lex would just let the comment pass unremarked. Clark ducked his head. _Geez,_ he thought to himself furiously, _what am I doing?_

"I do know Nell," Lex agreed, "but she's more a friend of my father."

Clark looked up quickly, unable to hide his disbelief at the lie. He had seen Lex kiss her! She was hardly more a friend of his father, but Clark didn't know how to challenge the statement. He wondered why he felt he should. After all, it wasn't as if it was any of his business who Lex decided to slobber all over. Knowing his face was about as subtle as a billboard, Clark looked away.

"Clark...?"

"I saw you, " Clark blurted, deciding in a rush that if Lex insisted upon claiming they were friends, he should be required to tell the truth.

"Saw me?" Lex repeated, voice slow, his eyes confused. Clark took a step away, intending to pace, to walk towards the door, put a more manageable distance between himself and Lex Luthor, something, anything, but Lex reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, stopping his progress. "Saw me where?"

Clark's heart was pounding. What was he doing? "I saw you at the flower shop. Thursday night. I was in town." Clark stopped, suddenly too short of breath to continue, and shrugged.

"At the flower shop?" Lex stepped away, running a hand over his head and expelling a quick breath. "I'm sorry, Clark."

"You said she used to date your father," Clark said. He couldn't keep a note of accusation from creeping into his voice.

"She was. I didn't lie to you, Clark."

"Then why--"

"It's kind of complicated," Lex interrupted, sighing. "My father and I...we don't have much of an ordinary relationship. In fact, we don't have much of a relationship at all. We have a tendency to turn everything into a sort of battle. Nothing is exempt from being used as a weapon. When my father exiled me to Smallville," Lex paused, and Clark could tell he was weighing how much to reveal, could see it in his eyes when he came to the decision to play it straight, "Nell was the only card that I had in my hand. My father never really cared for Nell but I knew my involvement with her would drive him up a wall, for many different reasons, chief being his fear that she would somehow turn up pregnant, I suppose. He's very concerned about the 'Luthor Heir' and all that nonsense." Lex stopped, seeming to realize how bitter he sounded and continued more calmly, "I was hoping my relationship with Nell would force him to let me return to Metropolis. So you see," Lex said, reaching out and grasping Clark's arm again, his eyes asking for understanding, "she is still mostly my father's friend. I've only recently gotten to know her...better."

Clark blinked. He didn't know what to say. What kind of father, what kind of son, played these sorts of games with each other? "So you're just taking advantage of her." He pulled his arm gently but firmly out of Lex's grasp. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." He wanted to leave. He felt he was treading water in the middle of an ocean of confusion; he could drown at any moment.

"I'm not like my father."

Clark looked away, past Lex and towards the door.

"Clark," Lex continued in a rush, shaking his head. "Does my relationship with Nell bother you that much? Is this because she's Lana's aunt? If the situation makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop seeing her."

"No!" Clark protested. It didn't exactly bother him. He didn't want Lex to think that it _bothered_ him. It didn't. Really. It wasn't any of his business anyway. "I just..." Clark stopped, confused.

"Clark," Lex stepped forward but stopped short of actually reaching out and recapturing Clark's arm, "your friendship is very important to me. I don't ever want to disappoint you."

Clark took a step backwards. Then another. "I...I have to go," he stammered. "Pete and Chloe. They're waiting for me." He turned on his heel and rushed out of the door and down the stairs, without once looking back.

~~~

"So...after your first date he gave you a car, then basically proposed marriage?" Diana looked him up and down with a smirk. "That must have been one helluva kiss, Clark. I don't know. Maybe we should..."

"It wasn't a kiss." Clark felt his face flush. "I shouldn't have even bothered--"

"Oh, come on," Diana sighed. "I was only joking. Stop being so sensitive."

"You don't understand." Clark ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I was just a kid. I didn't know all the things I could do back then. I shouldn't have used my own breath to bring him back to life. I shouldn't have--"

"I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you," Diana interrupted, "but you’re still a kid. And what were you supposed to do anyway?" She reached out and tried to calm him with a small caress on the back of his hand. "You couldn't just let him die. And even if it was a mistake--people make mistakes all the time, Clark. Even you."

"I can't afford to make those types of mistakes. Certain things just shouldn't happen." Clark looked down at the empty glass he was clutching in his right hand, oddly gratified that he hadn't crushed it.

Diana was silent, and Clark looked over at her, aware that some few minutes had passed.

"Thank you, Clark."

"For what?"

"For answering some of my questions. I know it’s hard for you." Clark shrugged. Diana pursed her lips, then continued, "I understand how important he was to you in Smallville when you were younger, but what is he to you now?"

"He's the most important person in my life."

Diana sat up straighter "Is? Or was?"

"What's the difference? It's all the same thing."

"But, Clark," Diana said, her confusion evident, "Lex Luthor barely knows you exist. I can say that for a fact because I checked into it. What happened between the two of you? He certainly doesn't seem as obsessed about the past as you are."

"I'm not obsessed," Clark countered hotly. Then, after a moment of silence with Diana staring at him relentlessly, Clark looked down at the glass he was holding and added under his breath, "He doesn't remember."

"What do you mean?"

Clark looked up and raised his voice so that Diana could hear him clearly, enunciated each syllable like the litany of an indictment. "He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember any of it."

"Clark...?" Diana said, staring at him. "What did you do?"

Clark's hands were shaking, and he set his empty glass down hard on the table. Startled by his appalling lack of self-control, he got up from his seat in a rush. "Listen, princess, I have to go."

Diana got to her feet more slowly, and after a slight hesitation, kissed him on the cheek with concern. "Okay, but--"

"I'll call you," Clark promised. He turned and hurried across the room, only sparing a moment to consider whether it was wise to simply leave Diana with the plutonium. Maybe he should go back and make sure she got to her car? Clark shook his head and continued out into the night. Diana would hardly appreciate his concern. She could take care of herself. His handler was the last woman in the world he would have to worry about.

The night enveloped him like a cloak of invisibility, hiding him from the harsh light of his own judgment. He walked south at a fast clip, in the direction of the oldest quarter of the city, trying to regain his composure, trying to re-establish his priorities and his sense of equilibrium. Clark walked quickly. He was good at walking--walking away from what he needed the most in full knowledge of the consequences.

What was his problem? What was wrong with him? What could he do to snatch his heart out of the past and force it to beat in the present? He picked up his pace; a fast walk turned into a jog, then into a discreet shift in speed. Clark accelerated, running in that in-between place where he could not be seen by the ordinary eye. Running from the knowledge that all heartfelt desires pull, even the ones that could have no place in his life; even the ones that should be six years dead and buried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

"Miss, you shouldn't be in here. This is a restricted area. Can I see your identification?"

 _What is it about Clark Kent that makes a girl act against her better judgment?_ Lois Lane wondered as she plastered a fake smile on her face and turned to answer the guard. "I was just on my way to the bathroom. I think I'm a little lost." She smiled sheepishly, and continued to talk up the guard, putting him at ease, using just the right amount of sexual innuendo to reassure him that her credentials were authentic and she was actually authorized to be in a restricted area of the LuthorCorp lab complex. Her antics allowed Clark to continue his snooping unnoticed and unhindered. _Must be the blue eyes,_ she decided, as the guard gave her his phone number and continued on his rounds. Why else would she risk possible bodily injury and potential incarceration to break into one of LuthorCorp’s facilities? She sighed then shrugged. The real reason she put up with Smallville was because he always seemed to know how to bag the dirt on the politicians in Metropolis, and he was damn good in bed--though she had to admit, you really wouldn't know it to look at him.

In fact, he was kind of...goofy, like that big red dog in the cartoons. Clifford.

If their arrangement hadn't been so beneficial, right from the start, she never would have looked at him as anything other than a sort of unofficial "little brother", let alone invited him into her bed. Really, the sex was a small--though rather pleasurable--price to pay for such a great working relationship, even though Clark was _hardly_ the man of her dreams (a that fact was totally irrelevant because Clark was the most manageable fuck she had had since college). He was completely low-maintenance, sweet when the occasion called for it, never overstepping his boundaries, never bothering her about the other men she dated, never trying to insinuate himself into her life beyond the fact that they worked together on most days. Who would have thought that goofy, mild-mannered Clark Kent had it in him?

Take this assignment, for instance. Clark had arrived at the office this morning, his usual earnest self, claiming to have gotten a tip on a major story involving Senator Luthor. Of course, she was skeptical--why would the Senator risk his career for a science experiment?--but a story like that would make her career. How could she resist? Then, too, she suspected if she hadn't agreed to go along, Clark would have gone regardless, and where would he be without her around to pull his fat out of the fire?

Lois looked down the hallway. _What was taking Clark so long?_

"Clark," she called out in a low voice. No answer. "Clark!" she tried again, walking towards the partially opened door that her partner had entered a few minutes earlier. It was completely dark inside; she could see the faint outlines of the glassware on top of the lab tables but couldn't make out Clark in the gloom. "Hurry up, would you?" _Oh snail, thy name is Smallville!_ Her reporter's instincts were telling her that it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

+

Clark Kent took his job as an investigative reporter seriously. What he liked most about the job--the investigation--allowed him to use his mind, not just his special abilities, to further the cause of truth and justice in the world. As a journalist, he had the ability to expose all the unseemly and unethical ways people in positions of power tried to take advantage of the large majority of people who were just average, ordinary citizens. Clark's father used to say you could tell everything you needed to know about a man by where he felt his responsibilities lay. As a journalist, Clark felt he had an ongoing responsibility to the American people to uncover Luthor's latest scheme. The people needed to know the type of man they had voted for and would be asked to vote for again.

With all of the surveillance and Lex's general paranoia, it was only a matter of time before he and Lois were caught and escorted out of the LuthorCorp facility, but Clark had the advantage of knowing Lex much better than Lex currently knew him. Lex was in the building, and probably watching them right now, but the senator's ego would require giving the reporters who dared break into his lab just enough time to _see_ but not enough time to actually acquire any evidence. But even ten minutes was more than enough time for Clark to scan the whole place with his special abilities.

Senator Lex Luthor would be shocked at how much information Clark Kent could gather in ten uninterrupted minutes. The old Lex would have been proud of the way he had learned to handle all of his abilities, how he had learned to turn his heightened senses into a force to be reckoned with. The old Lex would have wanted Clark to tell him everything, and would have offered a thousand little ways to improve upon his system--right before wheedling him into making use of his abilities to neutralize his father, Lionel, citing their desire to be free of Lionel's machinations and how a little bit of incriminating evidence would go a long way in neutralizing a man who often operated above the law. Clark would have hesitated, and the old Lex--his Lex--would have argued about the greater good, and Clark would have ultimately given in because, in the end, Lex was always more right than he was wrong. It was only a little bit of Clark's naiveté that had to be sacrificed to make sure that Lex remained safe from Lionel. Such a small sacrifice to prove to Lex again that his love was unconditional; that Clark would always be on his side.

But that was then. This new Lex had none of the same motivations as the Lex of his memory. Clark felt no love for this Lex, this Senator Lex Luthor; he doesn't owe the man _anything._

Clark heard Lois in the hall, murmuring discontentedly, and heard the almost imperceptible creak of the door as she stuck her head in the room to hurry him along. He heard her call out, looking for him, and knew his time was just about up.

"Clark...Clark! Hurry up, would you? We need to get out--"

Light flooded the room. A uniformed security guard came into view, holding Lois by one arm. He motioned toward the door. "Mr. Kent. Ms. Lane. This way please. The Senator is waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

"Tell him to fire the floor supervisor and cut the workforce by twenty percent," Lex said, not bothering to turn to look at Jason, his press secretary and sometime personal assistant. Lex leaned against a wall of glass, staring out on the world from his office on the eighteenth floor of LuthorCorp's east campus. The sun was setting over the city of Metropolis, and Lex was waiting--waiting for his people to let him know they had Clark Kent and Lois Lane in custody.

"But...it's the holidays," Jason objected, with a hesitant hitch in his voice. Jason was always hesitant. In fact, Lex found his timidity intensely annoying at times. He wasn't quite sure why he kept the boy around, except for the fact he liked the look of him. Jason was gifted with that combination of wavy brown hair, creamy complexion and brilliant blue eyes, the type of look that Lex seemed to never tired of ornamentally, even if he found the personality behind such beauty completely dissatisfying.

"So what?" He shrugged a shoulder. The façade of the city as the sun sank over the horizon fascinated him. The dilapidated buildings, the ashy cement blocks--monotonous, inevitably irritating--made it seem as if the city was nothing more than a worthless ball of gray clay, like something thrown away.

"Firing people around the holidays will be bad for the company's image and the publicity will backfire on you."

"So, put a spin on it. Buy me some good publicity. That's what I pay you for." Lex smirked as he turned and inspected Jason from head to toe, "among other things." He was mildly amused when Jason dropped his earnest blue eyes, cheeks flushing a scarlet red, and ducked his head.

"Anyway, the matter's not open for debate," he continued briskly. "The dismissals will reinforce in the minds of the survivors that they need to step up production. In three months, that plant will be making money again."

"Lex...," the boy hesitated--again, "what's wrong with you? These last few days you've been impossible. It's almost as if--"

The senator held up a hand and stared at Jason, his gaze flat, until the boy shifted uncomfortably in the face of his disdainful regard. "I think," he said slowly, "you're overstepping your boundaries again, don't you?" Lex cocked a pale eyebrow, and Jason looked away and down.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and see what's keeping our guests."

Jason raised his head, glared at Lex, and then exited the office, shutting the door behind him.

"He has a point, Lex. You've been acting like more of a bastard than usual this week. If you're not careful, your favorite bed warmer might grow some balls. You could end up sleeping alone tonight." The other visitor in his office smiled a smile of predatory maliciousness. "This inappropriate intimacy you have with LuthorCorp--you're a senator. You're not even supposed to be involved in the day-to-day operations of this company. Conflict of interest and all. Let Marin do his job. After all, he is the CEO."

Lex scoffed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Let some drone run my company. Someone you could manipulate by batting your pretty eyes and flicking a finger." He looked at his companion slyly, mockingly, smiling a little and challenging her with a cocked eyebrow. "Maybe you'd figure out a way to get Hardwick Industries back." He turned away from her, again directing his gaze out of the window. "I may have to marry you, Victoria, but don't think that LuthorCorp will _ever_ be under the control of anyone other than a Luthor born. Remember that."

"Fine." She shrugged, walking over to the couch and sitting down. "It's your career."

But he had stopped listening to her babbling. His thoughts had returned to the subject of his upcoming encounter. The surprising enigma that was--

Clark Kent. Another inexplicable fact in the file that his people had compiled on the reporter had Kent as one of the richest self-made men in the country. The reporter! The annoying reporter who had dogged his steps for his entire political career actually owned _The Daily Planet,_ where Kent worked, not as the editor-in-chief or chief publisher but as some _anonymous peon reporter!_ It wasn't common knowledge that Kent owned the paper; the paper was one of many assets in a trust that was owned by an offshore shell corporation, but Lex's people had followed the money and uncovered the source--as shockingly improbable as it seemed. Lex had come to think he knew all that a man could know about the foibles, motivations, methods and devices of other men. But exactly how does a kid who grew up shoveling cow shit in a cornfield, for crissakes, learn how to make so much money?

And now, the very albatross around his neck was right in the middle of his most important project to date, but no one-- _no one!_ \--especially not some hick reporter with more luck than sense would ruin his plans. Not this time. This time his plans wouldn't fail. This time--Lex smiled slowly. Time was his newest toy. Thanks to a scientist in a jail cell on the other side of the world, Lex Luthor would own all the time in the world.

The intercom buzzed.

"Senator."

"Yes."

"There's a Mr. Clark Kent here to see you."

It was about time. "Send him in."

Clark Kent was hustled through the door by two members of the building's security team. Lex didn't recognize them, and spent no time wondering. His attention was reserved for the tall man with the wary expression and the intense blue eyes.

Lex stepped away from the window, walked around his desk and crossed the room, and extended his hand. "Mr. Kent," he said, "it's a pleasure to see you again." His hand was pointedly ignored, and the audacity of it made Lex smile.

"Where's Lois?" his guest demanded. "Do you train your people to assault every visitor to the building?"

Kent had a well-modulated voice, almost polished. His tone was cautious but expectant, rather than arrogant or imploring, his eyes merely watchful. If Lex had to describe the man...strangely, the word _gallant_ came most quickly to mind.

"Ms. Lane is waiting for you in the conference room," he explained pleasantly "I'll take you to her, but I wanted to talk to you first." He kept his hand extended, raising an eyebrow pointedly, the only gesture needed to question Kent's wisdom in disdaining the common courtesy of a senator.

Lex mentally catalogued the quick blink of the reporter's eyelids, the tongue that darted out of his mouth to add moisture to dry lips, the hesitation, the uncertain pause, before Clark Kent reached out and grasped his hand...

It was like touching a live wire, like sticking a wet finger into an electrical socket; like an assault upon his senses. Lex froze, the landscape of his thoughts splattered with white light, doused with something very important that he had only to stand still for a moment to remember. He blinked. Looked down at their joined hands. Noticed a silver bracelet on-- _Clark's?_ \--wrist; the glint of it caught and held his eyes.

Shaking his head in confusion, Lex pulled his hand away. Adrift, suddenly, he stumbled back. Clark Kent reached out a hand, quickly, reflexively, and steadied him, then pulled it away and stuck the hand in a pocket--the quick masking of a gesture that had seemed almost...familiar. Lex looked into the reporter's hooded gaze questioningly, expecting...something, but saw only disdain, saw only ice.

"Are you all right?" Kent asked. The query was almost too gruff, almost to the point of being defensive.

Lex stared at him, absently rubbing the palm of his right hand. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I'm fine. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Long day," he added, self-deprecatingly.

 _The man is handsome._ The thought intruded upon him like an annoying itch in an unreachable spot. Kent's eyes were intense, intensely blue, like two cloudless skies orbiting the world of his face. Yes, they were exactly the color of the sky on a clear day. The skin, the lips. Red. Full.

Who was the last person to have made such an impact upon him? Lex couldn't think of anyone with whom he had had such a strong feeling of connectedness. But he needed to get his libido under control--and quickly, before his strange fugue became obvious. _Stop acting like a star-struck fifteen year-old,_ he told himself angrily. If he wasn't careful, someone would think he had fallen in lust with the reporter. How would that look in tomorrow's paper? _Senator Lex Luthor Loses His Mind. Again. Hits on Male Journalist._

He moved to take control of the situation. "Mr. Kent--Clark. May I call you Clark?" At the slow nod of assent he continued, "Can I get you something to drink?" Lex wasn't sure about anyone else but he needed something to add moisture to his dry mouth. Besides, it gave him a reason to walk across the room, gave him time to regain his composure.

"I'll have a scotch, dear," Victoria announced from her indolent position on the couch. He had forgotten about her.

He waved a hand in her direction. "Clark, I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Victoria Hardwick."

"Pleasure," Victoria cooed.

Lex watched Clark nod his head at her, and then turn away, dismissing her like yesterday's news. That alone was enough to make Lex take notice. Victoria usually elicited a dog-like response from any male in smelling distance. She was beautiful, distractingly so. She knew it, and Lex could always count on her to use that beauty to throw his adversaries off their game. Clark Kent, however, just acted as if she was a loaf of ten-day-old bread.

 _Interesting._

Maybe he buttered his bread on the other side?

 _Possibly._

Victoria bristle and Lex knew Clark Kent had just made himself an enemy. Victoria would never let any slight--actual or imaginary--go unpunished. He almost chuckled out loud.

"So, can I get you something?" he asked again.

Clark was slow to respond. "No, thank you," he said at last. "Why don't you just tell me what you want, Senator. I don't have time for your games."

"What I want?" Lex paused, as if considering. He raised an eyebrow and made his way over to the bar, pouring a scotch for himself and one for Victoria. He walked over to her, passed her the glass, and promptly dismissed her from his consideration. He turned his full attention on his guest, studied him for a moment before addressing his question. What did he _want?_

"Mr. Kent--Clark--I want you and Ms. Lane to find some other bone to gnaw. I'm simply not worthy of all this attention. I want you to tell me how we can make my _want_ a reality."

Kent raised a hand as if to halt all conversation. "Not possible, Luthor. Lois and I are reporters. Our integrity is not for sale."

Lex smiled, a small, predatory smile learned at the knee of a master of the possible--his father. "Come now, Clark," he chided gently. "Who said anything about purchasing your integrity? I'm simply trying to explore our options. Surely there is some arrangement we can come to that will allow you to maintain your...integrity, was it?...while presenting a more accurate picture of my political platform and philanthropic pursuits."

"Give it up, Luthor, you don't have anything I want."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be here." Lex suddenly realized he was whispering; that the distance between himself and his guest had decreased without his conscious volition. They were now standing closer than was in any way necessary for a discussion of any sort between two unacquainted males. The intensity between them was so thick it was like a fog in the air. Remembering Victoria was still in the room, catching sight of her rapt expression from the corner of his eye, Lex took a step backwards, out of the thickness, and proceeded to his desk to sit down.

"Please, Clark, take a seat."

"No, thank you. I'll stand."

Lex studied the young man with the thunderous expression for a moment, wondering if he should insist. "Suit yourself," he said instead. After all, Kent's body language said more than Lex suspected the man's words ever would and having him standing there like a force of nature was rather more revealing, he suspected, than having him sitting, coiled and confined to a chair.

Finishing his drink, Lex set the glass on the desk with a decisive impact. "Clark, I think we have a lot in common. I think you and I could do a lot of great things together if we could just reach an accord."

Apparently, it was Clark's turn to scoff disdainfully. "We have nothing in common, Luthor," he said, "and unless you have something to say--on the record--about your recent involvement with SalyBioTech," Clark reached in a jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, walked over and slammed it down on Lex's desk, "I suggest you take me to where you're holding Lois and let us be on our way."

Lex glanced down briefly, long enough to read the byline of the prospective article that Clark had produced-- _Senator Lex Luthor Sells Arms to Terrorists!_ \--and to skim the highlights before his gray gaze rose from the page and stared at blue eyes intensely for an interminable span of a heartbeat.

Until Clark's quiet voice--somewhat sad, strangely regretful--filled the silence. "Do you have any comment, Senator?"

"A comment? Why? So you and Ms. Lane can print this trash in that rag of yours? No, I don't have any _comment."_

"So you don't have anything to say for yourself? Why don't you tell me exactly what megalomaniacal fantasy you're pursuing this time. What is so important that you would throw away your political career by dealing with a company with known ties to terrorists? I want to know what you expect to accomplish--"

Lex got to his feet slowly, fascinated by the intensity of Clark's demand to _know,_ the way he loomed over his desk, accusingly, with gold flecks that seemed to appear in the depths of those too-blue eyes, eyes that flashed with righteous indignation.

"Clark--" he interrupted Clark's tirade, "I...admire...your journalistic ardor, but I categorically deny your accusations. Regretfully, if you insist on publishing these accusations _with no proof_ I'll be forced to respond in kind, suing you and Ms. Lane personally, along with that rag of a paper that employs you." Lex made his way around his desk, once again standing close enough to Clark Kent to touch him, had he been so inclined. "I'm sure you know better than to rely on that little bit of corporate espionage that you and Ms. Lane just conducted in my lab as proof of _anything._ Perhaps I should ask you a question: Why shouldn't I call the police, discredit you by having the two of you arrested for trespassing?"

"Perhaps because you invited me here?" Clark pulled another, smaller sheet of paper out of an inner pocket with the familiar double-L monogram. "Let's stop playing games, Luthor."

"That's right," Lex said slyly. "So I did. Still, it seems you are intent upon abusing my hospitality. What am I going to do with you, Clark?" He paused for effect. "I would hate for you to end up a casualty of your own curiosity."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not. I'm just trying to do you a favor. While you were busy investigating me, I did a little investigating of my own. Imagine my surprise when I found out that you weren't simply the mild-mannered reporter dogging my steps, like every other reporter in the city. Imagine my astonishment when I learned you actually own _The Daily Planet,_ or more precisely, you are the sole owner of the offshore corporation that owns the trust of which _The Daily Planet_ is a principal asset. I was shocked. I was amazed, and it made me wonder: What else don't I know about Clark Kent?"

Lowering his voice to a more intimate level, Lex folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on the edge of his desk. "And you know what I found out? That you-- _you_ \--are one of the youngest multi-millionaires on the planet. Why would you want to hide such a bright light under a bushel?" He paused, giving Clark the opportunity to say something, raise some objection if he so chose, but the reporter just stood there, staring at him, as if he were holding his breath, with the slightest amount of stress tensing the skin right at the corners of his eyes.

"Clark, you are one of the richest men in the world. We should be friends."

Clark scoffed and broke eye contact, turned slightly to glance at the door of the office as if he were just two seconds from making an escape. "Not likely," he mumbled instead.

"Do you think you're so much better than me?"

That got a quick response, and Lex was fascinated at the way righteous indignation seemed to flow back into his guest, all thoughts of a quick escape seemingly forgotten, making Clark Kent seem to stand taller and start that _looming_ thing again--

"You should be in jail, Luthor," he said, accusingly.

"Jail? But I've never done anything illegal."

"You've just never been caught."

"Same thing."

Clark exploded. "It's not the same thing!"

"Sure it is. It's the burden of the rich and the powerful to do what is necessary for the greater good. Legality very rarely enters into the picture."

"So now you think you're above the law?"

"On the contrary, Clark. I merely think the mundane artifices that serve to keep the masses pacified have no bearing on the complexities of the power structure of this country, and, really, the world. Surely, a man such as yourself can understand my position." Lex smiled slowly. "I mean, could you really see _me_ in prison?"

"Yes."

Clark Kent was so indignant, so self-righteous, so inexplicably naive that Lex could do nothing but laugh out loud. "I'm sorry," he apologized, controlling himself, "I'm not laughing at you. Really, I find all of this," he waved a hand indicating their current interaction and the whole of their discussion, "to be somewhat...refreshing."

Lex could tell Clark was on the verge of again insisting he be taken to his colleague. To forestall him, Lex stepped close and placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. "You and me, Clark," his voice was low like a gossamer whisper, a touch of wind at the heart, "Together--you and me. There are so many things we could do together. We would be a force to be reckoned with."

"I don't think so, Luthor."

Lex stared at him. "Come with me to Paris."

"What?" Clark blinked and took a quick step backwards, dislodging Lex's hand from his arm. Lex could tell he had thrown the reporter for a curve by extending the offer so casually.

"Paris," he explained, moving away with a quick return to a more business-like demeanor, placing the desk between himself and his visitor. "I'm going to Paris tomorrow for the International Conference on Human Rights. Obviously, your paper would be sending someone to cover it. So why don't you come with me? Don't tell me you can't get away."

"You've finally lost it, Luthor."

Lex continued briskly, as if he hadn't heard Clark's objection. "We can get to know one another better. I feel we've lost a lot of time. We've spent years dancing around one another: you reporting on my activities and me avoiding you like the plague. Traveling to Paris together, we would have time to explore our...relationship? They say that on a bridge, in the moonlight, in Paris, even arch enemies can reach an accord." He paused for effect. "If, after the trip, you find me at least tolerable, perhaps we could discuss something more long-term, a position that would give you access to my entire campaign as I run for the Congressional seat. In any event, you have to admit, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity." Lex grinned. "I suspect many reporters would kill for unimpeded access to my person."

Clark did not immediately react. Although on the face of it, the man seemed unmoved by his offer, there was something about the way Clark's eyes dilated that looked suspiciously like a response, a chink in the reporter's armor.

"I don't think so, Lex."

 _Lex._ The senator's heart skipped a beat--and skipped again.

 _Lex._

A level of familiarity previously unrealized. It had been _Luthor._ Or _Senator._ Always spoken roughly, tinged with an unapproachable amount of disdain. Lex thought back over their conversation. Had Clark Kent ever called him Lex?

Actually, Lex liked the way the word rolled off of Clark's tongue, easily, fluidly. And the flicker of...something...in his too-blue eyes. Lex was fascinated. And flushed. His heart was beating at twice its normal pace. Almost without his own violation, he quickly closed the distance between them, stepped quite near, so only the two of them could hear.

"I want my briefcase back."

"What briefcase?"

"I saw you, Clark. I _saw_ you." When that produced only silence, he continued. "Let me let you in on a little secret: I have a remarkable memory. I don't know how you did it but you pushed me out of the way of that bullet. You saved my life."

"You're crazy."

"Perhaps." Lex stepped back, cleared his throat. "I want you on that plane to Paris. Think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement, the easiest way for us both to get what we want."

"Right. A Faustian bargain. I don't think so."

"So now I'm the devil?" Lex smirked. "And here I am just trying to save your life, return the favor."

"Sure, you have the best of intentions."

"Don't presume to know my intentions, Clark," he answered, his words edged. "I doubt you could ever understand the things that motivate me. I'm offering you my friendship, and unlimited access to my campaign, and all I want in return is a little bit of cooperation. You're a businessman. Don't be so quick to turn me down."

"I know exactly what you're offering me, Luthor. You want to put me on your payroll, turn me into another one of your lackeys. _Yes, Senator. No, Senator._ There isn't enough money in the world."

"Think what you want, Clark, but we have a future together. It's up to you how that future plays out." Lex moved over to the intercom on the desk and buzzed for Althea to come in from the outer office.

"Oh, and Clark--the trip to Paris. I'm flying by helicopter to the airport at 3 pm. I'll expect you to meet me at the heliport on top of LutherCorp's headquarters in Midtown. I'll leave your name with lobby security. Let them know you should be allowed up."

"Ms. Ashman, please show our guest to the conference room."

Clark looked at him but said nothing. After a moment he followed Althea out of the office. Lex found he had been holding his breath and let it out with a small sigh.

"Is this your new strategy, Lex? Seducing reporters? Are you going to sleep your way into some good press?"

Ah, Victoria. He had almost forgotten all about her. "Whatever works, Victoria," he answered with a shrug.

"Whatever works."

"Oh, and find something else for Jason to do," he told her. "I expect to hire a new press secretary shortly."

As Lex picked up the phone to make some changes to his Paris itinerary, he experienced that tingling feeling again, like an itch, right at that unreachable place in the middle of his shoulder blades--a feeling that was telling him there was something strange, _maybe even special,_ about Clark Kent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

Lois took one last look at herself in the mirror. She looked great. Not just great for her age—great, period. There wasn't another female reporter in Metropolis who could lay a finger on her. Smiling, she turned off the vanity lights and exited the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. She paused a moment, her hand on the doorknob, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light in the bedroom, posing, really, in her high heels, stockings, garters and her black silk teddy from Saks. She wanted to give Clark enough time to fully appreciate all the trouble she had gone through for his benefit.

As her eyes adjusted, her brain catalogued the scene. Clark splayed casually across her bed on his back, in his boxers, pale moonlight falling across his exposed chest, his face. Clark stretched out like a marble statute of some Greek god in repose, his chest rising and falling, his breath regular, even. Regular. Even. Clark was asleep.

Asleep!

"Clark." _Perhaps he was just resting._

"Clark!" Lois stamped her foot. This went beyond—

"Dammit, Smallville," she said, sighing. She thought about waking him up but discarded the idea almost immediately. There was just some part of her personality that refused to allow her to wake a man up to beg him for sex. If a man was not excited enough to stay awake for twenty minutes while she changed in the bathroom, well...

 _Whatever._

Shoes negligently flipped across the room—one, then the other—Lois padded across the floor to her chest of drawers. Somehow, she admitted, a rather bad evening had just gotten markedly worse. First, there had been the fiasco at LuthorCorp, now this. She had half a mind to get dressed and go out. It would teach Clark a lesson, to have him wake up, alone. But then she sighed again, frustrated. Such a plan would be wasted on the man in her bed. It wasn't as if Clark ever got _jealous._ He was way too uninvolved to exhibit any feeling as intemperate as _jealousy._

But wasn't that exactly what she liked about him?

Shaking her head, Lois stripped, grabbed a T-shirt from a drawer and put it on. Then she made her way over to the bed, sitting down on the edge gently, resisting the urge to hop up and down and rattle Clark awake—but only just. She stared at Clark's face, a face familiar and softly illuminated by moonbeams falling into the room from the skylight. She reached out a hand to smooth the hair back from his face, smiling at how young, how startlingly handsome he looked while sleeping. He almost looked like a different guy, not the same gawky reporter with the big glasses and the corn-fed sense of style. As she touched him, he stirred. He shrugged away from her hand, muttering, and turned his face away from her uneasily.

 _He's upset,_ she realized. Clark worked too hard, and she had noticed over the years that he often had a hard time relaxing whenever they worked on an assignment involving Senator Luthor or LuthorCorp. She suspected Clark's agitation stemmed from the role LuthorCorp had played in the depopulation of his hometown; Clark obviously felt as if it was his own personal mission to expose Luthor, his company and anyone else who dealt in the Senator's particular brand of politicking. To date, their interactions with the Senator while covering his activities for the paper had been from a distance. Lois had to admit, though, the day's crazy events—getting caught snooping around the LuthorCorp lab, Clark's strange face-to-face with the Senator—would have made anyone a little uneasy.

Lois froze as Clark turned over, grumbling, sighing.

 _Lex._

Lois straightened. _What did he say?_ Lex Luthor?

Lois shook her head. Even with his sore spot for the Senator, Clark shouldn't allow his work to eat away at him, to give him nightmares. As she brushed her fingers lightly across his exposed shoulder, she resolved to talk to him about it in the morning.

 _Lex._

The sound was a quiet sigh, a delicately hushed caress. Lois raised an eyebrow. _What is he dreaming about?_ she wondered. What types of spirits haunted his sleep? She extended her hand to gently stroke his cheek with a finger but stopped just short of her goal, startled.

 _Clark...?_

She leaned closer, looking at his cheek.

It was wet.

And the glistening bit that hung at the corner of his eye, reflecting the moonlight...

It was a tear.

Slowly, Lois withdrew to her side of the bed, laying down and staring up at the ceiling. She had an odd, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a thrumming of her reporter's instincts, telling her that there was a story lurking—somewhere—in her vicinity. As her eyelids lowered, she slipped into a restful place, still wanting to know what could cause her lover such distress, why he dreamed with Lex Luthor's name on his lips and tears in his eyes. Lois fell asleep, never knowing the answer to her questions lay not in Clark's dreams but in his memories, memories of past times, younger days, of happier, simpler moments. That Clark slept and dreamed of Lex Luthor—the Lex who had been his confidant, his mentor, his lover, his best friend—and of the constantly shifting clouds that had come between them, blocking the sun.

~~~~~

 _His pale reflection smiles back at him knowingly, and it's the hands, the invisible hands, that straighten his tie, secure his cummerbund, settle the tuxedo jacket on his broad shoulders, polish his shoes, lovingly tuck an unruly lock of hair behind his ear. The invisible hands make sure he's ready._

 _Where is he going? It doesn't occur to him to wonder, but he knows he's late. Someone is waiting for him—downstairs, around the corner, outside, or in the car—just on the blurry edge of his perception. Waiting._

 _Clark is ready, and it's time for him to go. The hands have retired. He is alone...in the loft. There is that full-length mirror, the old one, the one with the cracked edge and the pockmarked surface. He takes a last look in the mirror and is caught, staring at a reflection that captures his eye and steals his breath._

 _He is so handsome! He barely recognizes himself in his tuxedo, in his shiny black shoes—wearing his expensive watch, and the silver bracelet that was a gift from..._

Who?

 _He looks like a stranger to himself. He doesn't know the man staring back at him. All he knows is that something_ —someone— _is missing._

You look great, Clark, like a million dollars. The women will be throwing their panties at your feet, and the men their jockstraps. Too bad for them you're all mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

 _Clark stops breathing, listens to a silence that haunts him oddly, like the memory of something he had once cherished. A tocsin of unease settles in the pit of his stomach like a rock._

I could kiss you forever, Clark, but if we don't go now, we'll never get out of here. These pants are way too tight, and I'm about to embarrass myself.

 _The voice. He knows that voice._

 _Mesmerized, Clark stares at the mirror as the glass suddenly fills like a carafe with flittering memories that seep onto the floor, soak his shoes, his pants, his shirt, taint his heart, stain his soul with juicy blackberry images more real to him than one hundred realities. The memories— They swirl around and around in their corral of vertical glass until one sharp image etches itself in mercury and in pale sunlight. It is the memory of an afternoon, paused, within the mirror. A day so long ago, it seems to Clark like only yesterday. It is the echo of a happy moment, a snapshot of a friend, a younger Lex Luthor—never innocent, but...gentler, softer...around the edges._

I have been there, _Clark suddenly knows as he watches the scene unfold, as the back of his throat begins to burn._ **I remember.**

 _Something drains out of him at the admission: confusion, anger, every argument he has ever put forth to justify taking the right road instead of the left, even the strength and the will to resist his own heart. Only the silence is left, and a helpless, incomprehensible longing. Bemused, Clark stops thinking. He closes his eyes and steps through the portal of glass._

And is there.

+

 _Smallville: Seven years ago..._

It is late in the day, and the last slice of pale sunshine falls down the sky on the grounds of the Luthor estate. Everything—the sky, the smell of spring, the beams of light poking through the branches of the tall Birch trees flanking the area—is just as it should be. Clark stands in the middle of a large expanse of green grass, looking around for a timeless moment, getting his bearings. He spies Lex in the distance, can't help the flutter of anticipation that takes root in the pit of his stomach, the happy smile that gently stretches the corners of his mouth.

Lex turns, flashes his usual grin of insouciance and tosses a football casually in the air. _Of course._ Clark remembers now. _How could he ever forget?_ This is their special place, the place the two of them often go to be alone—the part of the estate that is close enough to see the house on the hill in the distance but far enough away to ensure their complete privacy. Nothing about this place has changed. Nothing has changed at all.

"Ready?" Lex calls out from about fifty yards down field. Smiling broadly, Lex palms the football, getting ready to throw.

"Show me whatcha got, Lu—THOR!" Clark hollers brashly as he pulls up the legs of his sweatpants and makes ready to catch the ball.

"You're going down, Kent!" Lex parleys loudly, right before he throws the ball and takes up a defensive position.

Catching the ball easily, Clark tucks it into the crook of his arm and takes off running towards his adversary. Scowling, Clark bears down upon him, feigning left at the last possible moment and moving successfully past Lex's line of defense. Lex reaches out for him, attempts to grab hold of his T-shirt and pull him to the ground, but Clark spins artfully and dodges and races away. He can feel Lex right behind him, about to leap for the tackle, so he digs down deep and calls up his last burst of natural speed to try to out-pace his opponent. The end zone is in sight—the two trees that serve as markers—but Lex is coming on too quickly, closing the distance between them despite his shorter stride. _He sure can run fast,_ Clark admits to himself with fond admiration. He realizes if Lex makes the tackle, there will be no end to his crowing about it for at least a week.

Clark glances back quickly and bites his lip. Any moment Lex would barrel into his back, knocking him to the ground to claim the victory. Clark considers accepting defeat—in accordance with the rules of the game and their gentleman's agreement that he not use his powers to influence the outcome of their friendly competitions—but then Clark thinks of all the things he has learned from Lex over the years and decides quickly that his friend, of all people, would appreciate him breaking the rules occasionally in order to win. Clark looks back at Lex, catches his eye, grins, and with a touch of wind at the heart, sticks out his tongue, turns and shifts. It is completely unfair and a terrible abuse of his special abilities, but knowing how mad Lex will get, and knowing how handsome he'll look all agitated, Clark just can't resist.

So he leaves Lex grasping empty air and materializes in the end zone. Clark leans against a tree nonchalantly, waiting for his friend to run the rest of the distance.

Grinning, Clark expects Lex to slow down, to stop running and, perhaps, walk the rest of the way to the end zone mouthing dry chastisements. Abruptly, Clark's smile fades, and he straightens up as he realizes that instead of slowing down, Lex has picked up his pace, is running harder, faster. Impossibly fast. Straining. Clark watches, alarmed, as Lex sprints towards him with all of his strength, until the wind seems to burn past and through him. Clark stops breathing, stands poised on the balls of his feet, prepared to do...something. He is sure if Lex runs one heartbeat faster, he will blur into the wind.

Lex cries out hoarsely as he falls to the ground at Clark's feet, his skin an awful gray color. Clark tries to break his fall, use his body to cushion the collapse. Lex is panting harshly, unable to catch his breath. The panting becomes a wheezing in his chest so like an asthma attack that Clark panics, fearing the sudden flair-up of an illness that hasn't bothered Lex since childhood. In the span of three impeded breaths, Clark races to the house, grabs a bottle of water from the bar in the sunroom and returns to Lex's side. Sitting down on the grass and pulling Lex into his lap, Clark feels the keen edge of relief as Lex starts to breathe normally. Clark opens the bottle of water and puts it to his lips. Lex swallows, sputters.

"Lex. What's wrong?" Clark asks, confused. _What just happened?_ What in the world— "What are you doing?"

Eyes the color of storm clouds stare up at him intensely. So intense, so distraught...Clark puts the bottle of water down on the ground and raises a hand to cup his friend's face.

"Lex, what's wrong? Talk to me."

"Promise me, Clark," Lex says breathlessly, his voice tinged with a level of familiar desperation as he leans against Clark. "Promise me you'll never leave me behind."

"I won't," Clark answers slowly, realizing it is his own fault that Lex is so upset, his fault for being so damn insensitive, for flaunting his gifts. "I promise."

"That you'll never let anyone come between us."

"No one. Ever."

"Say it, Clark. Say that you'll always love me."

"I do." Clark tries to put all the love and confidence rooted in his heart and soul into those small words. "I will." Uncertainly, he tries to lighten the mood, make Lex smile, disperse the dark clouds in his eyes. "After all," he says flippantly, "who else but you would be so willing to blow an alien every day, and twice on Sunday?"

Lex coughs, tries to smile but Clark notices that the smile doesn't quite reach his shifty gray eyes. Something else is wrong—Clark can feel the wrongness, hear an out-of-key note—and he takes his eyes off of Lex's face for a moment, slowly looks down his friend's body as the off-key measure beats softly in his ears...

 _The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats._

. . . and sees . . .

Blood. It's blood. _How has he...?_

Clark reaches out. Captures Lex's hand and turns it over. Discovers a jagged line, as if Lex had smashed a mirror and used a shard to cut his wrist. Not deep, not life-threatening—never that—just painful, just painful enough to remind a person exactly why he is in the world.

Fumbling, Clark applies pressure to the cut, tries to determine what to do to stop the slow bleeding. He disregards a number of ideas as he glances at the house in the distance, on the hill. Clark doesn't want to leave Lex, even for the seconds it would take for him to run to the house and get some antiseptic. Instead, he pulls off his t-shirt, rips a strip off the bottom, raises Lex's wrist and licks the blood, adds a touch of heat, then binds the wrist with the makeshift bandage. Uses the rest of his ruined shirt to wipe up the blood.

"Lex," Clark says softly, sadly, staring into eyes that merely _watch,_ rebelliously. "Why...?" _How has he managed to do it this time?_ "I can't stand to see you do this to yourself. Lex. Look at me. Are you trying to hurt me...?" It has been a long time since Lex has had an episode like this. Clark knows he has been lulled into dropping his guard. But everything had been so perfect! Angry with himself, Clark uses his x-ray vision to find the object Lex has used to do the deed. It's in his pocket.

Clark retrieves the piece of glass with no resistance. Uses his power to toss the fragment far afield.

Clark sighs and pulls Lex to his chest, hugging him tightly. At first he gets no response, but then, like the bursting of a dam, Lex rushes into him, wrapping long arms around his body, pressing his face into the crook of Clark's neck, breathing. Breathing.

"Lex..." Clark murmurs.

It doesn't surprise Clark when their embrace turns heated, that Lex should start to devour his neck, that Clark should find his hands underneath Lex's shirt, pulling it over Lex's head just to feel the press of their skin, chest to chest. There has always been a frenetic energy between them, this irrational need to be further, deeper inside, to touch, feel, just like this.

Lex whispers his name. _Clark. Clark._ Clark stops, listens. In that soft susurration is everything that has come to mean anything to him, and a confirmation of what Clark has long suspected—that he and Lex are kindred spirits. Commiserate karmas. Soul-mates.

"I love you, Lex."

A sunset-touch, the long tree-shadows growing, until Clark pulls back. He looks into Lex's eyes, hoping to see that the crisis has passed.

"We'll be happy. Together. It'll be just like we talked about. Better than a dream."

"I don't think I have it in me to dream such innocent dreams."

"I'll dream for you," Clark says. Lex stares, and nods, and closes the distance between them with one fierce rush.

Hands work their way down his torso, start to pull at the waistband to his sweatpants. Lips start to nibble at his jaw line and, nibbling, slowly descend.

"Here?" Clark asks archly, only mildly surprised.

"Right here," Lex demands. "Right now."

There is no time for soft, gentle touchings. Every movement is frenzied, their passion so intense that no matter how many times they are together like this, it always seems like the very first time, except now they each have the benefit of experience, the absolute familiarity of each other's body.

Knows it as surely as he knows the back of his own hand.

Feels the touch of him, that particular tingling of him.

 _Sometimes I feel you're so untouchable, Clark. That nothing I do could ever touch you. Do you feel the way that I feel? About us? Or is your heart as unbreakable as your bones, as unbreachable as your skin? I'd die without you, Clark. Clark. Clark._

When it's all over, when the two of them are spent; when Clark recovers from that derangement of mind that takes him outside of himself, he knows that they should get up, get back to the house to shower and change. Clark's parents are expecting him home for dinner.

"Stay the night."

Clark pauses before answering. He is happy. He doesn't want to argue. "You know I can't, Lex."

"You can."

Clark shakes his head. "My parents—"

"Forget them. Call and say you're staying at Pete's. Or just tell them you're staying with me. You're eighteen. They'll get over it. It's not like they'll disown you over one night."

"I can't—"

Sullenly. "You won't."

"Lex." Clark sighs, frustrated. The sky darkens above them. Gray clouds roll in. Questions like thunderbolts tear holes in the ground at their feet. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that there's no one in the world more important to you than me," Lex says in a rush. He moves his arm away from his eyes, stares at Clark intently. "That you can't live without me."

"You know how I feel about you. You know I love you more than anything in the world."

"Then prove it."

"Why?" Clark pulls away, frustration edging his voice with thorns. "Why do you always need me to choose? After everything we've been through, why won't you believe that I love you?" Loudly, confidently, "I will always love you. Always."

"How can you love me, Clark? I don't even love me." Lex laughs harshly—at himself. The same laugh Clark loves, has always loved. But now, the sound is twisted, and it breaks his heart.

"Lex." The anger drains out of him. He cannot stand to see Lex so distressed while it's in his power to relieve.

"Go, Clark. Go home."

"Lex."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Looking at the shifting gray clouds that are his eyes, Clark realizes that nothing is of any consequence _except their time together._ Nothing. _You mean more to me than I can ever say._

Clark shakes his head. "I'm staying. That is, if the offer is still on the table." Lex looks at him and his gaze is inscrutable. _Eyes, the color of storm clouds._ "It's you and me, Lex," Clark whispers softly. "Forever. I won't leave you."

"Yes, you will, Clark," Lex says slowly, staring past him, through him, suddenly unreachable, until he starts to speak again. "You don't belong to me. I don't deserve you. Someday soon you'll get tired of my bullshit, get tired of being my personal hero, and you'll leave me behind. I'm sure it will be because of something _I_ do, that it'll all be _my_ fault; funny thing is I won't be able to help myself. Then one day you'll forget all about me." His voice catches. "I'll walk by you on the street and you won't even remember my name."

Clark shudders at the sudden chill. Lex's unusual prescience hanging, like a bad omen over their heads. He tries to laugh it off. "So now you're a psychic," he says with forced lightness, but Clark has a terrible feeling, as if he has been walking in his sleep and has awakened in the middle of an unknown and deserted place. It feels like Lex has selected a card; it feels like the die has been cast.

Clark looks at Lex searchingly, looks to him, as he always has, for answers, and realizes that this is just another lesson. Lex is right. He is always right. Nothing lasts forever; not even the earth, not even the sun. Their days together are surely numbered.

Clark pulls Lex to him and hugs him tightly.

Somehow, he knows something has changed. This is not the way it's supposed to happen. An inexpressible longing to extend this moment endlessly possesses him. He cannot say why tears tremble at the corners of his eyes. Except that it all has to end. He knows that it's all going to end.

Someday they will be strangers. Strange and singular, with only a broken mirror for company and the shards of a memory littering the floor, sharp as knives.

Clark doubles over, the tightness in his chest so overwhelming, so painful, it seems to him as if he cannot experience such hurt and live, until he hears a disembodied voice—edgy, familiar—seeming to come from every place and no-place, a voice that says, _Wake up, Clark. Wake up. No one should have to suffer a mirror of losses._

~~~~~

Lois Lane woke up alone in a Kansas-cold apartment to gray skies that threatened imminent snow or sleet. Briefly, she considered going back to bed until her phone started ringing, confirming it was likely way past the time she should be up and at work.

"Yeah."

"Lois?"

"Yeah, Perry, what is it? I'm on my way."

"Just read your article. It's a gem. Real front page stuff. I smell another Pulitzer."

"My article…?"

"Kent dropped it off. I've got to say, Lois, I don't see Senator Luthor buying his way out of this one. You may have just changed the whole landscape of the election. You done good, kid."

"Uh, thanks."

"Were you sleeping? Of course—you were probably up all night writing. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. Take the rest of the day off. You deserve it."

"Yeah, okay."

"By the way, I'm assigning you and Kent to the fundraiser at the embassy next Thursday. So get some rest. Wouldn't want my best reporter falling asleep on the job!"

"Yeah. Right. Thursday. Fundraiser. Got it." At that, she hung up the phone, figuring it was her cue to get up, locate Clark, and find out what the _hell_ was going on.


End file.
